Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken
by lynlyn
Summary: AU fic set after Kuroro was captured by Kurapika What if Kuroro was able to turn the tables on his captor? Explores the possibility of Kurapika becoming a member of the Geneiryodan. Warning: Kuroro x Kurapika shonen ai. Chapter 22 uploaded.
1. Impressions

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kurapika / Kuroro (slash, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this chapter takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Pakunoda thinks about what to do when their leader gets captured by the chain assassin – but a very welcome phone call removes the need to take drastic measures. Kuroro, on the other hand, is faced with a difficult decision.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** This isn't exactly my first try at fanfiction, but it will be the first story I'll post on the Internet. I'm technically a newbie – so please go light on me!

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 1 – Impressions

"Paku?"

The images came, unmitigated, unchecked, rushing by with near-impossible speed, but she saw them all, understood the situation with sickening clarity. She ignored her companions' calls, instead focused solely on the memories of the one who had left the innocuous-looking piece of paper wrapped around the ominous knife.

_A figure leaping up from behind the hotel reception desk, hand darting forward to throw the nen chains around their target… _Red eyes… and chains. _A face set in determination and triumph, the face of the one they had dubbed "the chain assassin"… _A uniform…? The enemy had dressed as a female receptionist! Ingenious of him, really… They hadn't been able to foresee that, and they'd been completely taken by surprise.

And now their leader will pay for their folly.

The message hastily scribbled on the piece of paper was simple – brief and straight to the point.

**_Tell them and I'll kill him._**

And Pakunoda had no doubt that he would, if she did reveal the memories of their prisoners to the rest of the group. The emerging picture of the chain assassin was impressive, frightening at his worst. Simply put, he was a deadly enemy, quick, decisive, cunning and adaptable. He'd pulled off what was supposedly impossible: captured the leader of the powerful Geneiryodan within the time it took a person to blink. Even so, there should have been more than enough time for the leader to evade the attack. So why…

Of course. This sudden blackout. The resulting moments of confusion and indecision was all it took to throw the leader's concentration off guard for a few seconds. Mere seconds, infinitesimal in scope, but it was enough. Even microseconds counted in a situation where life was at stake. That they had no warning whatsoever confounded the problem. The foremost and most urgent thoughts she had drawn from the kids were "power cut" and "act at 7", inadequate to determine that the target this time was the leader. It was now glaringly obvious that that loud, angry man with the cellphone was an accomplice of the chain assassin. It was he who'd passed the information about when to act to their prisoners; and the kids, responding admirably, had distracted them so thoroughly that none of them had noticed the leader's abduction until after it was all over. She had a broken arm and several teeth knocked loose, while Machi probably had more than a few broken ribs. They would have been severe wounds if not for the fact that they were fighters, and were old hands at using nen. At the very least, though, their injuries will hinder them should they decide to pursue the assassin.

The whole thing was brilliant, extremely well-planned for a scheme put together at a moment's notice, probably the second the leader had mentioned the name of the hotel when they had first caught the kids out in the street fifteen minutes ago. Which explained why the hostages didn't know much about the plan.

But why is it that she hadn't been able to catch so much as a thought about the chain assassin's identity when she had probed their memories the first time they had been caught? They obviously knew him… Was it because he had kept his abilities secret?

Another point to the assassin, then. He had not revealed his cards to many people, even his friends. It was the mark of a cold, calculating strategist.

Which means that the note was _not_ an empty threat. The assassin had been willing to waste precious seconds to throw the knife at them, even risking discovery and pursuit. He had a companion named Senritsu, whose nen ability was enhanced hearing, hearing so keen that that person could hear the heartbeats of people standing meters away, and pick up on emotions in subtle changes in the heartbeat.

_If I spilled, this Senritsu would be able to detect the change in my heartbeat, know that I didn't do as he said… and he'll kill the leader, never mind the fact that he'll be putting his friends in even greater danger…_

But… he _must_ value his friends. No one was that cold-hearted… The kids were also valuable hostages. There _will_ be a chance to rescue the leader, but only if they played things right.

But how? Oh, God, what should she do?

"Paku."

Should she tell? Should she – can she – risk the leader's life?

"PAKU!!"

"Huh?"

"From now on don't talk, ok? If you can't, then don't," Nobunaga said gruffly.

Pakunoda nodded. The others had apparently noticed her brooding, and had understood instantly. But she still didn't know what to do.

"Concentrate, Machi. Don't let them go. We can't risk them getting away again," Nobunaga commanded, turning to the other injured member of their party, who still had her arms wrapped tightly around the white-haired boy named Killua. This was the more dangerous of the two hostages. He was the one who had gotten loose from Machi's nen strings, and had broken Pakunoda's arm and Machi's ribs effortlessly.

She watched as Machi retied the boy's arms behind his back with Nobunaga's help. He wouldn't be able to escape again, with all of them on guard for even the slightest sign of struggle or resistance. Besides, he won't leave his friend here. If he dared to, he would have escaped long ago, back when the hotel's lights first went out. He had the chance, but he didn't take it, probably knowing that the other boy can't undo knots as easily as he did.

"The chain assassin will contact us again, I'm sure of it. We should guard the hostages well, they might be the ticket we need to rescue the leader…"

Nobunaga's words hit her with the force of a speeding train. Of course. The leader was more important now. She shouldn't think too much.

"I want to chase after that son of a bitch, of course, but we can't let these brats go. We'll wait for the others to arrive first, then think of what to do next. I think the chain assassin will use a car to get away. We can still catch up – he might get stuck in the traffic."

At the mention of the other members of their group, though, Pakunoda's uncertainties returned full-force. She remembered something the leader had said a long time ago, back when their group had first formed. It must have been years ago, but she knew his words, had them memorized by heart.

_"Our group is called the spider – I am the head and you are the limbs. Hands and legs need to listen to the head, and they need to be loyal, according to the traditional working mechanism. But that rule doesn't apply to life and death situations. For example, should I die, anyone can take my place. It all depends on the circumstances. Sometimes the head is not as important compared to the whole. I have to make something clear, though. My command takes the priority. But that doesn't mean that my life takes the priority. I am part of the group too. And the group is more important than individuals. We can't forget this."_

Reveal the chain assassin's weakness, give the group a huge advantage over their enemy, and lose their leader's life; or keep silent and follow the assassin's orders, and betray the group's code?

She – they will lose either way. Pakunoda spared a moment to curse the chain assassin. She dared not betray the group by submitting to the enemy's plans for them – and she had a feeling that if the assassin succeeded, he will go after all the members of the Geneiryodan – but she didn't want to put the leader's life in danger.

_Wait a minute… What was the leader's prophecy? Didn't he get his prophecy from the fortune-telling nen ability he stole from Nostrad's daughter?_

She had no idea what the leader's prophecy was, but she knew her own.

_"In the midst of dark days is a thread of light  
Within a tight room, two choices in your sight  
Only when the God of Death stands by your side  
The answer be glory or betrayal, you decide."_

Of course, she'd memorized it the minute the leader handed it to her, and she'd been mulling over it ever since. It didn't make sense before, but it did now.

_Did the God of Death mean the two kids? Or the chain assassin? Is it betrayal to the leader if I told? Should I keep silent, or should I betray the group? And the small room is… my own mind? …No! I think too much! Today is Saturday; the prophecy is for next week. At least, I don't have to make a decision today._

Should she tell them, or not? What would the leader do, if he were her…?

_Dancho__…_

"Paku!" Machi called, "It's better if you don't think too much about unnecessary things. Just keep silent, okay?"

Pakunoda stilled, the hand clutching the assassin's message falling limply to her side. Seconds later, the hotel's lights came on, minutes later after they first went out. Everything about them was illuminated in near-blinding clarity, as what would happen when being subjected to sudden light after one's eyes had adjusted to total darkness.

"Phinx, come to the hotel. The leader has been captured." Nobunaga, on his cellphone, telling the other members of the group to come over…

The leader… Her heart literally ached to think about life without the leader beside them.

_We still need you, Dancho… _I_ need you._

The hotel lights had chased away the darkness, and it seemed that they had exorcised her doubts, too. She had selfish reasons, reasons that were stopping her from making a decision that would benefit the whole group. Pakunoda _liked_ the leader; loved him, even, but alas, that love was one-sided.

_I don't care. I'm sorry, Dancho, but I can't do it. I can't leave you to die, greater good be damned._

She smiled, remembering all the times they've spent together. Granted, those activities weren't legal, but that was what the Geneiryodan did. Morality didn't figure into their equation. It was a meaningless word for abandoned souls, left to die in barren wastelands dotted with mountains of refuse and garbage. Her life, as well as her companions' lives, started when they joined the group; and she would go to hell and back just to ensure its survival.

_Let _me_ be the traitor, Dancho. This way, at least, no one else would have to die._

-- -- -- -- --

"Why didn't you go after them?"

"Machi and Paku were injured."

"So?"

"That guy had professional hunters with him. Even these two kids are hard to deal with, based on fighting ability alone."

"So?"

"Read the message clearly! It certifies the value of these brats as hostages. As long as they're alive, we can get the leader back."

"So?"

"If they ran away, we'd have lost our bargaining chip! The bastard who has the leader is the chain assassin, who even Ubogin couldn't defeat!"

"You afraid?"

Pakunoda sighed inwardly. Trust Feitan and Phinx to get Nobunaga all riled up. The tension between the three had started to rise mere seconds after the rest of the group had arrived. She watched as Nobunaga slowly turned red, a throbbing vein visible in his left temple.

"Didn't you hear what I said?! It was a power cut! By the time our eyes adjusted to the dark, the leader's gone! We weren't able to take any action at that moment. Look at the situation clearly!

Feitan laughed, tone derisive and provoking. Pakunoda couldn't understand why the child-sized fighter continued to taunt the frustrated Nobunaga. They shouldn't do this… they shouldn't fight amongst themselves, not when the leader's life was on the line… Ah, hell… Phinx had just pushed Nobunaga's patience over the edge with something she didn't quite catch over her musings. The samurai was fingering his sword, even as he held on to the white-haired kid. Pakunoda readied herself to restrain Nobunaga, should he think of throwing himself at his tormentors. Another voice suddenly cut in before anyone could do anything else.

"Anyway, we have to have another meeting. We have to find a strategy for this."

Pakunoda relaxed slightly. Shalnark, ever the calm, logical voice, one of the strategists of their group, had spoken. His boyish features indicated otherwise, but Shalnark was a fearsome thinker, and a ruthless fighter when he needed to be. The seemingly innocent cellular phone hanging by his belt was a quiet testimony to that. He was the best at information-gathering, extremely good at planning, and when it came to battle tactics and outwitting foes, came only third to the leader and herself. When he spoke, the others listened.

"From now on, we have to work as a group. We'll tend to Machi and Paku's injuries first, then we start tracking the chain assassin. Paku, do you understand?"

"Yes."

Actually, she didn't have to understand. If things would be going according to the course she had decided minutes ago, she wouldn't be following Shalnark's plan. Or anybody else's plans, for that matter. She listened half-heartedly to the hotel attendants, who were trying to appease the guests, then focused her attention back on Shalnark, who continued to give them the outline of the strategy he'd thought of.

"If anyone discovers the car the leader's in –"

_Riiiiiing_

It was her cellphone. The damned thing had to go and ring at the most inopportune of times. It rang a second time, the tone shrill and loud in the sudden silence their group had fallen into.

She moved slowly, taking the phone out from her pocket with an ease that she herself didn't feel. She looked at the glowing LCD screen.

"It's the leader's number," she announced calmly, without taking her eyes off the accursed thing. Then she looked up.

The phone rang again, and still she didn't answer it. By the expressions on her companions' faces, it seemed that they didn't want her to, either. They knew it was the chain assassin, calling to inform them of their leader's fate.

_Oh, God, I'm not yet ready._

The phone rang a fifth time, and Shalnark nodded, gesturing her to give in to the inevitable, and answer the call. Pakunoda took a deep breath – _It isn't enough,_ her mind screamed – and turned the phone on before it could ring a sixth time.

"It took you long enough!"

"Dancho!?"

"Paku? Are you still in the hotel? Go back to the hideout immediately; tell the group to wait there. I'll follow you."

"Dancho, what happened? Where are you?"

A pause, as their leader seemed to regard something, then, "I'll explain later." And before she could ask, "Don't worry, I've got the chain assassin."

She must have sagged in relief, but things were happening so fast, she didn't notice. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the boy named Killua stiffen. He must have heard that last sentence. His hearing was sharper than they gave him credit for.

"Do you understand, Paku? Go back, right now, don't stay in the hotel."

"Yes – Dancho, wait!" she added hurriedly, as the other was readying to put his phone down. "What should we do with the hostages?"

"Bring them. I have something in mind."

Then the line went dead.

She turned the cellphone off, and, moving with agonizing slowness, placed it back in her pocket. She looked up; her companions looked like they were about to pounce on her and wring her for answers.

"That was the leader," she said calmly, blandly, the flat tone indicating that her mouth was very much separated from her inner thoughts, which, at that time, felt like chaos personified.

"And?"

"He told us to go back to the hideout. He said that he'll catch up with us there."

"What happened?!"

"I don't know. He didn't say," and before any of them could proceed with the pouncing, she told them what they had all been waiting to hear. "He did say that he's captured the chain assassin."

Trust their leader to turn the tables around.

Wait… "something in mind"…?

---ooOOOoo---

York Shin City was one of the biggest metropolises around. Hundred-story five-star hotels, grand theaters, flashy casinos, opulent auction houses, vast markets and huge department stores – it had all of those, and more. It was literally a playground for the rich and famous. People from all walks of life gathered here all year round, as participants, and as audiences in its daily – and nightly activities.

It's also one of those so-called cities that never sleep. Neon signs, to flashing strobes, to plain fluorescent lamps; every kind of lighting available to mankind were turned on when the sun set, the city welcoming its night revelers with wide-open hands. That was why rooms situated at the highest floors of hotels were never unoccupied. The higher you went, the more expensive the bill, and the more spectacular the view.

_And you can't go any higher than where I am now – without flying, of course,_ Kuroro thought with detached humor as he jumped from the roof of Hotel this to the roof of Hotel that, spanning hundreds of feet in each leap, and summarily dismissing the dizzying height with a disinterested glance.

The view could be considered romantic… if it weren't for the fact that he had someone slung over his left shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

His mortal enemy, to be exact; the chain assassin, currently out like a light.

And even unconscious, the brat was annoying him, forcing his gears into motion, making him rethink his strategies and plans.

Why had he spared the blond? He should have killed the boy, the first – and the last, he hoped – who was able to catch him, even if the captivity had been brief.

And it was probably pure luck that he had been able to escape, he thought grumpily, grudgingly. This time, it had been a flicker, sudden darkness in the supposedly steady stream of light from one of the city's streetlamps, just as they were passing under it.

Maybe it had been his opponent's own jumpy nerves, or carelessness – wars have been won and lost due to carelessness; but all he knew was that the silver chains wrapped around him had loosened just a bit, right at that infinitesimal moment of sudden darkness.

It had been enough, the chance grabbed at and pounced upon immediately, and Kuroro had slipped from the chains before the other realized his mistake.

He'd been walking in front of the blond, so he'd spun on his left heel, then delivered the most powerful side kick he could manage, with his right foot. The satisfying _thud_ of foot hitting stomach rang in the cool night air around them, and the fickle light of the streetlamp had flickered back on to illuminate the assassin's face set in a grimace of pain and shock.

That kick had been meant to cripple, and it had decapitated less powerful foes before, so Kuroro had watched in slight surprise as his opponent struggled to remain upright and conscious after flying only five feet backwards.

The kid had managed to put up a partial block, after all, right before his kick hit. But it hadn't been enough, as control over his muscles left him and he fell on his hands and knees.

The length of chain still wrapped loosely around Kuroro disappeared, its creator too weakened to maintain its solid state.

He'd moved forward then, to deliver a fatal, second blow, but before he could do so, Kuroro had found himself looking into a pair of livid red eyes. Well, actually, they weren't a constant red – the color wavered from blood-red to cerulean blue and back again to red, then blue, each change of color signifying that their owner was walking the line between the waking world and unconsciousness. A quick glance down at a pale hand showed the assassin's weapons appearing and disappearing in cadence with the color changes – appearing when the eyes turned red and disappearing when they changed back into blue.

He'd stared at the other's eyes, fascinated, a dim memory prickling at the back of his mind, and belatedly he'd realized that the blond was cursing him, the litany of oaths and death threats carving swaths right out of the air.

Only someone with the strengthening nen ability could have survived that kick, and the chain assassin was supposedly a materializing type of nen user. But here he was, still lucid enough to hurl abuse at him.

It was probably then that Kuroro had decided _not_ to kill the blond, for reasons that had been unclear to him at that moment – and were still unclear now.

It wasn't because he'd been interested in stealing the other's power – the thought had actually been at the bottom of the list; immediate elimination of the danger and the threat had been at the top. Nor was he thinking of revenge through torture and slow, painful death. (That was usually Feitan's cup of tea.) Had it been because he was impressed, then? Impressed at the blond's strength and abilities, and intrigued at how he had acquired them…?

Whatever the reason had been, it had eluded him, just as it was eluding him now. Instead of the fatal blow, he'd delivered a neat chop to the back of the blond's skull, and the chain assassin finally stopped struggling and slumped into unconsciousness.

Pure luck – for him, that is – was probably also the culprit behind the chain assassin's decision to pick an empty street to traverse, or else there would have been hell to pay if anyone saw Kuroro leaning over the prone figure lying on the street – just as he'd done while he'd pulled out his cellphone to call Pakunoda.

He'd paid only half of his attention during the brief conversation, telling his second to round up the members of their group and head back to their hideout. The other half of his concentration had been used in contemplation, as he'd stared down at the infamous chain assassin.

He should have killed the enemy then, avenged Ubogin's death, but… one look at the killer's face and all his anger had drained away.

The chain assassin… wasn't supposed to be _this_ young. Eyes closed in sleep, (unconsciousness would be the more fitting term, but it didn't sound as good) the enemy looked almost like a kid, a child untouched by darkness or sin.

It was also then that he'd discovered the correct gender of the chain assassin. He'd erroneously assumed that the blond (brunet then) was a female – blame it on the feminine receptionist outfit; but he'd looked harder, and noticed that something hadn't fit.

He'd crouched down, reached out, taken hold of the ponytail, tugged… and stared at the shock of blond hair that had spilled out from under the brown wig.

Then, after careful thought, he'd turned the chain assassin over to her – his? – back, and used a sleeve to wipe the lipstick away.

Yup, definitely male. Albeit a slight, girly-looking male.

After a few more minutes or so of staring and thinking, Kuroro had decided to damn all his plans to hell and head back to their hideout. He'd think of something along the way.

Which brought him to where he was now. Only a kilometer away from the cluster of abandoned buildings they'd chosen as their hideout, and he still didn't know what he was supposed to do with the blond.

All he knew was, killing the chain assassin had dropped quite far down the to-do list.

... But what should he do about the fact that the chain assassin had killed Ubogin? That would make the two of them mortal enemies, and the blond obviously hated the entire Geneiryodan... He'd probably try to kill Kuroro the moment a chance presented itself. Why wouldn't Kuroro want to hate him in return, and kill him before that could happen?

_I don't _hate_ him; he killed Ubogin, and as the leader of the group, it's only professional that I take him back to the others, then let them decide as a group…_

Professional? Group decision? Even to his own ears, they sounded pathetic. Shallow excuses to cover his inability to find a defense for his actions.

_Argh__! I don't know! I just... I don't know yet. I'll find the reason... eventually..._

Right.

If anything else, those chains should come in handy in bed.

Where in hell did _that_ thought come from?!

--- end of chapter one ---

notes:

1. I translated the prophecy from the manga… but the raw text didn't sound good, so I added rhyme in. Conversations between the characters in the first part were based on the anime, and I tried to preserve their original meaning as much as possible. But the subtitles in the copy I had were terrible, so I can't be exactly sure.

2. Comments and criticisms will be greatly appreciated, but if you're flaming just for the heck of it, then don't waste calories typing and just hit the back button.

Reposted on March 6, 2007, with minor edits to tense errors and the inner voice formatting. I also added a few sentences to make the transition smoother in a couple of scenes. (In other words, I tried to cut down on the melodrama.)


	2. He Wakes

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kurapika / Kuroro (slash, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : The Ryodan members finally meet the chain assassin face-to-face.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Sorry it took me so long... Blame it on school and the plot bunny league. And Suikoden.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 2 – He Wakes

"Something in mind", indeed.

Pakunoda had never questioned their leader's sanity before. Sure, most of his plans and ideas sounded utterly absurd and suicidal to the ordinary mind, but heck, none of the Geneiryodan members were remotely normal, and most probably were each a little bit insane, with skills and abilities ordinary men could only dream of. His plans suited them just fine, and they gladly carried each of them out like they were the most brilliant schemes on earth. His tactical and leadership abilities had never failed them before, as their success rate for each mission, until now, was a perfect one hundred percent.

So now she had to wonder if their leader hadn't had one of his screws knocked loose during his brief spat with the chain assassin.

Outwardly he seemed fine – no injuries, not even a scratch to indicate that barely an hour ago he'd been someone else's hostage. It was the inner workings of his mind they were worried about.

He'd arrived about five minutes ago, amidst much relief, and a bit of rejoicing on the part of their more emotional members – which lasted until he'd set down the suspicious-looking load he had on his left shoulder.

They couldn't see very clearly, what with it being the middle of the night, and they only had a few candles and a couple of decrepit lightbulbs for illumination. When that dim light revealed the face of the unconscious figure, though, Nobunaga immediately went into overdrive.

"Kusari!!"

"What?!"

"_That's_ the chain assassin?!"

"Dancho, what in hell happened?!"

"Shouldn't we kill –"

"Let GO!! I'm gonna –"

"EVERYONE!!!"

The bull-like roar effectively cut into their babbled questions, and even Nobunaga, who was currently being restrained by Franklin, had to stop to stare at Kuroro.

It wasn't as if they'd never heard him yell before; however powerful their leader might be, he was still mortal, and prone to emotions and human feelings. But the times that he'd lost his temper were few and far in between, and very, very rare. Pakunoda could even hazard a guess that it was the first time that Shizuku, their newest member, had heard Kuroro raise his voice above the low baritone he normally used.

"Calm down," the leader intoned in a much more even voice. "The chain assassin won't be waking for another hour or so; I made sure of that."

Adding that second statement was a nice touch. He'd implied control, simultaneously countering that momentary spate of hysteria. Franklin removed his large hand from where it was tightly gripping Nobunaga's shoulder, and the latter grumbled an inaudible curse, straightening his clothes and glaring at the larger man. The other members relaxed visibly.

Kuroro gave an exasperated sigh once he saw that everyone had more or less calmed down. He walked a few feet away, but still within striking distance from the slumped figure of the chain assassin, Pakunoda noticed, and sat down with a huff. Machi immediately went to his side and started looking for injuries.

"I'm fine," he reassured, but made no move to stop the stoic-faced girl from proceeding with her ministrations. "We didn't fight, actually. He lost concentration; I took him out – end of story."

"You didn't fight?" Phinx echoed. He seemed disappointed, for some reason. "Too bad. And here I thought you'd beaten him to a – Wait a minute! Did you say '_him_'?!" He spun around and crouched down in front of the unconscious blond, squinting at the pale face. After a minute or so of staring and rubbing at his eyes, he looked over his shoulder at the leader. Pakunoda swore he had a sheepish expression on his face.

"What? You mean you didn't know the chain assassin was a guy?" the leader asked amusedly.

"Yeah. He looks like a girl…"

The leader chuckled. "I shouldn't have taken the wig and lipstick off, then."

Phinx's eyes fairly bulged at that last sentence, but he quickly recovered, and a thoughtful frown soon replaced his astonished expression.

"What is it now?"

"I don't know… This guy… Doesn't look strong enough to beat Ubogin."

"He's skilled, believe me. I have yet to find out what exactly his nen ability is, but let me tell you this. His chains somehow… prevented me from using nen – forced me into Zetsu, in other words. I couldn't do anything, outside of trying to break free, physically."

"Was that how he was able to defeat Ubogin, then? But… Ubogin had enormous physical strength. He should have been able to break free," Shalnark mused.

"Bastard must have tricked Ubogin somehow," Nobunaga growled.

"No…" Franklin cut in. "His chains must be too strong for even Ubogin to break, simple as that."

"Franklin!"

"I do not believe that this kid is capable of trickery, let alone cold-blooded murder. He's too young, too inexperienced," Franklin said flatly.

He didn't add anything more, after that. Looking at his large frame dwarf the chain assassin's diminutive figure lent even more credibility to his statement, and Pakunoda found herself agreeing with him.

The memories she'd taken from Nostrad's bodyguard had been disheartening, to say the least. Skuwara – she remembered he was called – thought that the newest addition to Nostrad's security forces was a little weird. The green recruit, on their very first meeting at the Nostrad mansion, had impressively proven his superior intellect and perception by singularly pointing out the veterans ordered to pose as rookies as a test for the newcomers. The blond had passed with flying colors, mere minutes into the activity. Succeeding meetings formed the general impression that he was a cold person, maybe anti-social, and had the tendency to voice his opinions directly and bluntly.

Pakunoda had also seen, through Skuwara's memories, the first real demonstration of the chain assassin's – Kurapika's – abilities, back at the balloon crash site, right when Ubogin had first been captured. The blond had been staring at Ubogin wreaking havoc through a pair of binoculars, when his aura had suddenly turned ominous and frightening. Kurapika must have seen something that had ticked him off; he had been so furious, his nen wildly whipping about him with raging force, that none of them had dared to stop him when he'd announced his intention to step into the fray. Only when the person called Senritsu had intervened did Kurapika calm down, and even then, he was _still_ convinced that he could pull off what hundreds of armed men have been trying and failing to do: capture Ubogin – which he did, incidentally, thus earning Skuwara's undying respect.

The knowledge that Kurapika had succeeded at what even the famed Inju couldn't do impressed on the dog trainer that the blond was indeed, someone very powerful. After that, he'd even been invited to join the group of hired assassins the Ten Old Geezers had put together to kill the Geneiryodan! Everything she'd gotten from the dead bodyguard's memories was shining praise, and a healthy amount of fearful respect. The latter emotion had affected her thinking; forced her to look at their situation from a worst-case basis, based on what she knew of the chain assassin in her stolen memories.

The unconscious teen in front of her was _nothing_ like the cold-hearted assassin in those memories.

_Okay, you've gone off the deep end now. Geneiryodan aren't supposed to feel pity._

Well, not everyone has lost his or her usual ruthlessness at the sight of the defenseless chain assassin. Feitan, for example, looked like he was positively itching to get his knives on their newest prisoner.

"Whether he killed Ubogin or not, _onna-otoko_ here still dared to go against the leader. I say he hang for that."

"Feitan," the leader cautioned, "There will be no need for that as of the moment. Not until we find out more about him, and what happened to Ubogin."

Feitan shrugged and turned away, contempt and grudging acceptance in his countenance. If another member of the group had given him the order he wouldn't have backed down so easily. Of all the Ryodan members he was the most sadistic, and they usually left the questioning and "wheedling" of information from their prisoners to him.

"Shalnark?" Kuroro called out.

"Information, right?" the other answered. "Okay, leave everything to me."

Shalnark stepped forward, then cautiously bent to rummage through the blond's clothing. The other members tensed up, ready to attack should there be a need to defend him. There was no telling whether the chain assassin was really dead to the world, or only pretending to be unconscious…

The terse moment passed, and Shalnark straightened, clutching a small leather wallet in one hand and a cellular phone in the other.

"He doesn't have much on him," he murmured, and setting the phone down, started to go through the contents of the wallet.

"A few thousand zenny… no ID… Hey!" Shalnark suddenly exclaimed. He was holding up a card of some sort, peering at it excitedly. One side was red with a black stripe down its length, and the other had two black X's, and some white lines.

"This guy's a Hunter," he announced.

So that's why he seemed so excited. Shalnark was also a professional Hunter, and he was always trying to persuade them to enter the yearly examinations, saying that being a Hunter could give them enormous privileges, especially in financing and traveling. They never seemed to take his suggestions seriously, though. Why enter such an amateurish game just to get one measly card when they could just steal all the money and visas they needed?

"287… That's this year's batch. I guess that means he's just newly learned his nen…"

Pakunoda could practically see the leader's ears swivel at that piece of information.

"What do you mean?"

"In most cases Hunter examinees haven't learned nen yet – they don't even know that nen exists. The exam actually has two phases, the exam itself, and another phase, after the exam, wherein they are taught nen, without their knowing that the Hunter Association is watching their progress. Only when the graduates have successfully learned the basics are they considered fully-fledged Hunters. This year's exam occurred six months ago." Shalnark paused, and looked down at the blond with a calculating look on his face. "That means our chain assassin here might have come into possession of his abilities less than six months ago."

" 'Might have'?"

"Well, it could also be that he's already learned beforehand. _I_ passed the examinations already knowing nen. But the possibility of that happening is very low; probably only around two to three people per examination can use nen."

"No identification?" Shizuku spoke up in the thoughtful silence that followed.

"Don't worry. I can get all the information we need using this," Shalnark assured, giving the card a flick. He then bustled off to a corner where he'd stashed his stolen equipment – a laptop, and a reading device of some sort. They hadn't understood why he'd bothered to steal said equipment during their last raid at the city, but now they watched curiously as he yanked some wires from a hole he'd punched open in the wall, spliced them with some more wires snaking from the laptop, turned it on, swiped the card through the reader, and started to type furiously, all the while humming a nondescript tune.

"Dancho?"

"Yes? What is it?"

Pakunoda listened in surprise as the diminutive Coltopi started to talk. Hearing him offer an opinion was nearly as rare as seeing their leader lose his temper.

"I just remembered. I think he's the one who won the bid for that pair of red eyes."

"Those creepy eyeballs that sold for 2,900,000,000 zenny?" asked Shizuku.

Coltopi nodded.

"You mean he was there all along and we didn't even _see_ him?!"

Ah, Nobunaga was getting riled up again. If he kept this up he'd probably die of high blood pressure.

"Speaking of red eyes," the leader started, – Pakunoda sighed in relief as Nobunaga momentarily forgot about his vendetta with the enemy – "We were pretty close when we assumed that the chain assassin was related to the Kuruta tribe."

"Why only 'pretty close'?"

"Because not only is he related to the tribe, he _is_ a Kuruta."

"I thought you said you wiped them out four years ago," Shizuku said.

Kuroro gave a slight frown at the girl's bluntness. "I prefer not to use the expression 'wiped out'…"

"But that was what you did, right?"

Pakunoda nearly jumped out of her skin when that young voice suddenly spoke. It was the black-haired kid, the one who'd arm-wrestled with Nobunaga. Finally faced with the real chain assassin, she'd all but forgotten that they still had two hostages to deal with. The children were standing to one side, arms still bound behind their backs, but feet free to move within the small circle of space being guarded by Bonorenolf, Shizuku, and Hisoka.

"You killed everyone in the Kuruta tribe for their eyes."

"Gon, what do you think you're doing?!" his companion hissed at him. The other boy, obviously the more cautious of the two, apparently didn't know that his friend would suddenly speak up. He probably thought that butting in wouldn't be prudent, if they feared for their lives.

Gon didn't heed his friend's warning, though, nor did he take note of the icy glare Feitan gave him. He continued to speak with the same single-mindedness that strengthening-type nen users possessed.

"Kurapika is the last of his clan."

He was… pleading for the chain assassin's life, calling on whatever sympathy his captors might have left to spare the last of an extinct race. Pakunoda could see that determination in the boy's eyes. He would do whatever it took to save his friends' lives – even beg the enemy for them.

The white-haired boy must have understood what Gon was trying to do, for he suddenly straightened after a long moment of looking at the other boy, and faced them with the same look of determination on his face. The only difference was that he was glaring equally fiercely back at Feitan, and at the rest of them, as if with his glare alone he could command his captors to set them free.

It would have been hilarious if it weren't for the fact that what they were doing was extremely stupid and suicidal, and that they knew they could very well lose their lives for their transgression.

The leader's cool voice startled her out of her morbid contemplation of their hostages' grim futures.

"Paku? Their memories, if you would please."

Oh, right. These three obviously knew each other. That she hadn't been able to grab so much as a thought about the blond from the kids during her initial probing was only a matter of circumstance. Now that they were actively thinking of how to help their friend, though, she would be able to get all the memories they needed from them.

She started with the boy named Gon. He didn't so much as flinch when she approached them and laid a hand on his left shoulder. His large chocolate eyes stared defiantly up at her, unnerving her with their open, direct gaze.

Pakunoda steeled her resolve, and reminded herself that Geneiryodan aren't supposed to be affected by insignificant things such as wide-eyed stares from scrawny kids. She stated the question that would be the trigger for the child's memories to cascade like water from an upturned bucket.

"How well do you know the chain assassin?"

The images came and went, squeezing events that happened over the span of several months into a few measly seconds – hardly enough to do justice to human life, she sometimes thought, but that was how her mind-reading nen worked. She read the memories like pages in a book, speeding up or slowing down at will, but time in the outside world never lasted more than a minute whenever she forayed into the minds of other people.

She saw how the chain assassin and the kid met, on a ship bound for the island where hunter examinees registered, and where the blond had proven his intellect with a lengthy and very complicated explanation of how St. Elmo's Fire worked. She felt Gon's awe at seeing Kurapika first use his strength against a swollen-eyed giant of a man four times the blond's size who'd tried to masquerade as a Ryodan member. She took stock of her target's leadership abilities, which he'd displayed when the examinees were forced to man a wrecked ship in order to survive a raging storm. She next noted the Kuruta's potential as a fighter when he dueled against a very familiar face during what she assumed to be the last stage of their Hunter exam.

She went through the next set of memories, giving only a passing glance to the details of their journey, instead focusing her attention on the parts where the chain assassin seemed to have the most involvement. After that there was a six-month period of time wherein Gon and the other boy separated from their companions, and she couldn't find so much as a sliver of memory about the blond during that blank space.

She assumed that that must have been when the chain assassin had trained apart from his friends. She would have to probe the Kuruta's memories to confirm that, but all the facts they had so far pointed that the blond had, indeed, hidden his abilities from his friends.

It was along this thread, heading up to the memories she'd first seen back at the hotel, that Pakunoda found herself running into something that took her by surprise. It was a thick…. wall of some sort, hindering her from going any further. A memory block…?

It was impossible. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The notion that a mere boy could consciously erect mental blocks against her probes was ludicrous.

… Was he even doing it consciously?

Apparently not. He was still glaring up at her, and gave no outward sign, nothing that might indicate triumph at being able to stop her. He didn't react, either, when she bypassed the block easily, with a bit of added concentration. It was some kind of unconscious action, then, a desperate move born out of wanting to help his friend so badly. The mental wall was weak, and it stood no chance against people like her, who literally relied on their nen to survive.

Still, it was something that the leader might want to know. She'll have to tell him later.

She proceeded on to the memories, now seeing the scene for the second time. Back at the hotel the revelations had come too quickly, too abruptly for her to absorb properly; but now that she had all the time in the world she watched carefully, filing away everything the blond (in the memory) said about his abilities.

His weakness… was something unexpected. It was what made his abilities so fearsome, but it could also lead to his ruin, if they played their cards right. She was sure that Nobunaga would happily use the assassin's double-edged sword against him even without the leader's go-ahead if she divulged the information she knew right now, so she decided that she'd better consult with Kuroro first.

She withdrew from the boy's mind, and took a few seconds to compose herself. The more extensive memory probes usually left her feeling a bit disoriented – this time was as extensive as any she'd ever done before.

And with the disorientation came the jumbled emotions.

Actually it wasn't as intense as the others she'd gone through; probably due to the fact that her subject this time was only a child, and an extremely naïve and innocent one, at that. His emotions were pure, straightforward, hiding nothing and baring everything. Removing any traces of the other's emotions to prevent contamination left her with her own feelings, which, at the moment, were surprisingly few.

Was she sorry? No. Ubogin had been one of the originals, and they'd gone through so much, had known each other for far too long to easily forgive his killer, valid reasons be damned. It was even worse for Nobunaga, who'd known him even before they'd joined the Geneiryodan.

But… Pakunoda knew that these… children were very close friends, as closely bonded to each other as their tightly-knit group were. Maybe she could manage just a teeny bit of pity, for humanity's sake.

She looked up, noticing that Shalnark's tapping of the computer keys had stilled. He was now peering intently at the computer monitor, and from where she was standing right now she could see that his brows were furrowed slightly.

"Well? What did you find?" Phinx asked.

"Just a sec. Dancho? I think you should see this."

She could see only one way the chain assassin could escape death, and that was if the remaining members agreed to accept him as Ubogin's replacement.

Not bloody likely. Nobunaga, for one, would sooner kill the blond than accept him as an equal, never mind the fact that the Kuruta was a very able candidate. Ubogin wasn't like member number 4, the one Hisoka had killed and replaced. _That_ guy had been relatively new, not one of the originals, and had no sense of camaraderie whatsoever. There had been no love lost when he died, so it was okay for them to accept the more powerful Hisoka into their group.

Speaking of treacherous magicians…

Pakunoda glanced surreptitiously at Hisoka, where he sat playing with his usual deck of cards, a few feet behind the two kids. The man wasn't dumb; she knew that he was aware that she'd found out about his past associations with their prisoners. Still he sat, building a pyramid of cards, looking exactly like what his image portrayed – a clown with a stack of playing cards. But she knew that was all an act. He was a deadly opponent; if they confronted him right now he'll surely fight back in self-defense – they'll retaliate, of course, and if they worked together they'll probably be able to defeat him, but not without significant losses to their side. Again, it would be best if she consulted with the leader first. Right now, all she could do was to keep an eye on the traitor.

She turned to the white-haired boy, and repeated the same process, asked the same question – but that was where the similarities ended. The boy – Killua – first met Kurapika on another, later stage of the exam – had actually saved him, in fact, by literally kicking the blond out of a lethal drug-induced trance. Afterwards the memories were similar, but Killua wasn't as impressed as the other boy had been. He did acknowledge the blond as a fellow fighter, and had understood the other's capabilities better than the less experienced Gon. Pakunoda had wondered why this one seemed more dangerous, more powerful, why someone as young as he had come to possess an aura similar to Hisoka's – now she understood. The boy was a member of the infamous Zaoldyeck family. Another important tidbit to tell the leader.

Then came the six-month blank, but this time it was longer, and he had no memories of the journey the other boy had undertaken. He'd left earlier – it was a family spat of some kind; he'd been ordered to go home, against his will, and his friends had gone all the way to the impenetrable Zaoldyeck residence just to fetch him. He'd met up with the chain assassin, Gon, and the man they'd seen back at the hotel, but only briefly, and they went on their separate ways right after.

The next time their little group reunited was in York Shin City, and whereas Killua used to dismiss Kurapika's abilities before they separated, this time he paid more interest in the blond's newfound powers. He really hadn't known during the initial probing Pakunoda made in the car on the way to their hideout – it was only after they'd mentioned about the chain assassin's hatred for anything concerning the Geneiryodan that he made the connection, and his inference was proved right when they met up with the Kuruta.

Pakunoda finally finished after what seemed like an eternity. The boy's remaining memories were similar to the ones the other had tried to protect with his mind block, and she knew the scene quite well now, having seen it a number of times. Without a doubt, it was the key to defeating the chain assassin, the key to their revenge. She removed her hand from the boy's shoulder and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

The kids were still glaring at her. The Zaoldyeck child, in particular, had this creepy stare, and Pakunoda knew she would have died several times over, if looks could kill.

_Sorry, boys. You kids shouldn't have meddled in affairs other than your own lives. I don't have any control over what will happen to you now._

"Find anything interesting?" Machi murmured as she stepped away from the hostages.

"Lots."

"Let's hear 'em, then." Nobunaga demanded impatiently.

"Need to know, remember? The –"

"– leader first. I know, I know. Go on. Don't keep us waiting," he added, fingering his katana absent-mindedly.

Pakunoda walked to where Shalnark and the leader were conversing in hushed tones in front of Shalnark's laptop. The brunette looked agitated, for some reason, and Pakunoda thought she knew why. She stopped just beyond the range of the computer monitor, until Kuroro decided to give her permission to see what was obviously something to be kept secret from the others, for the good of the whole group – only for the meantime, of course.

The leader waved her over, and she walked around the stump of the pillar Shalnark used as an impromptu table to Kuroro's side.

What she saw on the screen wasn't that much of a surprise, considering what she knew.

"This is…?"

"I accessed the Hunter website using the chain assassin's card. This page shows the list of graduates for this year." Shalnark explained. "You don't seem that surprised," he commented, looking up at her.

"The kids' memories," Pakunoda said by way of explanation. "They considered him some sort of monster who kept following them around, apparently."

"I can see why they thought that," Shalnark muttered back.

Hisoka's grinning face looked up at them from the computer monitor.

"What should we do next?" Pakunoda asked quietly. She could see that the leader was deep in thought, eyes on the pictures of the chain assassin and their wayward member posted on the Hunter website, but she knew that he wasn't really seeing what he was looking at. That much she could predict; but his exact thoughts were what she couldn't – and shouldn't, speaking from experience – try to anticipate.

"Paku," Kuroro suddenly spoke, "The kids' memories first. I'll have to know more before I can decide on the correct course of action."

Pakunoda took out her gun, checked its chambers quickly, and was preparing the nen bullet she would use to transfer the memories when the leader interrupted her.

"In there," he said, nodding towards a door to the back of the room they were in – it led to a smaller room, and in it they wouldn't be seen or overheard by the main room's occupants.

"It's better if the hostages don't see your ability," he explained.

They were halfway to the room when Nobunaga suddenly shouted a warning.

"He's waking up!"

It was amazing how three simple words could have such an effect on them. One minute they were just lounging around, minding their own businesses, relaxed but alert for any threat that might present itself; the next found them standing and at the ready, bristling with tension and barely leashed fury. Without conscious thought they positioned themselves around the chain assassin quickly and silently, cutting off exits and means of escape.

"Nobunaga," Kuroro called, his voice calm and controlled, "Use your _En_; make sure he doesn't step out of your circle. Injure him if you must, but don't kill him."

The samurai nodded grimly, and in the blink of an eye had his _En_ circle expanding outwards, easily encompassing the chain assassin within its invisible confines. Pakunoda relaxed somewhat. That scanning technique was Nobunaga's specialty, and even Phinx would admit to its effectiveness. Nobunaga can sense _anything_ inside his circle, even in the dark, and can effortlessly cut down the chain assassin should he move aggressively or try to resist.

"Don't do anything stupid if you don't want to lose your heads," Machi whispered to their hostages. She had resumed her position behind them, and had even added an extra nen string around their necks. The boys didn't nod or acknowledge the threat, though. They knew that one wrong move, one twitch or pull from Machi's fingers could send their heads rolling on the floor.

The chain assassin by then was stirring visibly; groping limbs struggling to reacquaint themselves with mobility. His eyes were still closed – and it seemed that he hadn't quite realized his predicament yet. Pakunoda wondered how long it would take him to find out.

Not much later, as it turned out.

"Don't move – or I'll cut your head off." Nobunaga growled.

The boy froze in a semi-standing posture, right hand caught in the act of gripping his forehead, left arm sprawled against the concrete behind him for support. His eyes remained closed, and it was a full five seconds later before he opened them – slowly, as if afraid to see what he was faced with.

They watched as those blue eyes went from confused, to horrified – to blazing, fury-tinged red, the change so abrupt that it took them all by surprise, even though they were expecting it.

Then all hell broke loose.

--- end of chapter two ---

notes:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I loved your comments – now I understand what they say about authors being able to write faster when given more reviews. I prioritized this fic 'cause it seemed to attract more readers. I'll continue to do my best to live up to your expectations.

Reposted on March 6, 2007, with minor edits to grammar, plus changing two words to turn Coltopi into his correct gender.


	3. Caught in the Spider's Web

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kurapika / Kuroro (slash, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Now read about Kurapika's thoughts as he wakes up to find himself in the midst of his worst enemies.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** This repost has a few edits. I changed a couple of terms and played around with the formatting of the inner voice system. I'd rather do away with it completely because it feels so strange now, but I figured that taking that away will mean drastically changing some of the scenes.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 3 – Caught in the Spider's Web

_What..._

**_Wrong._**

_What am I doing… on the floor...?_

**_Not right._** Something felt… off – like he'd forgotten to finish a very important task.

_Ugh…_

That, and the fact that his head hurt like hell. His tongue felt like dry cotton, his limbs like heavy lead, and he couldn't open his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to force them to give him his vision back.

**_Wrong. Not right!! Danger – unfamiliar territory – hostile nen –_**

Normally he would have understood, and pinpointed immediately the reason his instincts were going haywire, but today his sluggish mind just wasn't up to it. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs; then instantly regretted it, for his headache doubled in ferocity at the sudden movement.

_Ow__…_ He gripped his forehead in a vain attempt to curb the insane pounding in his head.

By that time his instincts were already screaming at him to get up, and he could do no more than comply slowly, groggy brain unable to process the command faster than a snail's trudging pace. Seconds later he'd succeeded in propping himself up against the rough concrete of the wall (post?) at his back, and next up was the task of figuring out the five W's and the lone H…

He was in the middle of trying to think of a possible 'where' when a low voice to his left suddenly growled a warning.

"Don't move – or I'll cut your head off."

And with that Kurapika came completely awake, warning bells blasting away the thick fog of lethargy that had threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. He kept his eyes closed, though, and didn't move – nor could he, even if he wanted to. His memories were returning, resurfacing at a rate faster than he could process them, and they were anything _but_ reassuring.

He _had_ failed to finish something – and that failure was rapidly turning into one that could very well cost him his life.

The Geneiryodan had thirteen members. He'd killed one, a large man named Ubogin, supposedly the strongest in the group in terms of physical strength. And right now there were twelve aggressive auras around him, to his front, sides, at his back – not counting the two smaller, seemingly suppressed ones to his right.

_No… oh, God, no…_

If he took them on individually, and with ample information about his opponents' abilities, plus the element of surprise, he could probably win each confrontation without mortal consequences, which was why he had singled out Ubogin after seeing the extent of the other's powers at the crash site. Now, though…

He was trapped. Caught like prey entangled in a spider's web.

_No! I don't know yet! Might be someone else – the group of assassins, anyone! Not the Geneiryodan, please, not them…_

His babbling internal denials trailed off when he finally opened his eyes, and received visual confirmation of his worst nightmare turned reality.

Geneiryodan. His clan's murderers. The people he'd sworn revenge on.

His mortal enemies.

They were everywhere, and he didn't need to look around to know that his escape routes were blocked off. Not that he could move, anyway. That first threat wasn't a mere bluff. He could feel some sort of aura enveloping him, not unlike the kind naturally emanating from nen users when they were at rest. This one was more ominous, had more concentration imbibed into it, and it was coming from a samurai standing a couple of meters to his left, who was crouched in an attacking position – and said samurai looked very, very angry.

Kurapika had no doubt that he'd be diced to pieces even before he was able to move an inch.

**_Prey caught in a spider's web…_**

_How could things have turned out like this?_

**_Your own fault._****_ You got distracted. Never lose concentration in a life-and-death situation. Now pay for your mistake._**

_No!!_

He lashed out at his ruthless inner critic, as he felt his power stir to life – power that every Kuruta had, that enhanced their abilities and doubled their strength and speed whenever they felt particularly strong emotions. He welcomed the anger, the pain that he remembered when confronted with situations reminding him of his lost tribe mates – drowned himself in fury, and promptly forgot everything outside of the need to satisfy his hunger for vengeance. Dimly, he registered the indrawn breaths, the surprise when his eyes turned completely crimson; and from far away his logical, analytical side informed him that he most probably wouldn't make it out alive.

So be it. It was better than just surrendering and letting his memories of his family and friends die with him, forgotten, and without anyone to honor them. If he was going down, then he'd better do so in a blaze of glory, and at least take a couple of these bastards along with him.

He leapt, exploding from inaction to action in a barely discernible blur of motion; his speed startling his enemies and causing them to pause in confusion, the microseconds spent trying to follow him with their eyes seemingly minute, but invaluable for him because it meant more time to reach his target.

The head of the spider. The leader of the Geneiryodan, the one who'd escaped his trap.

Something bit into his left arm just before he passed the boundaries of the samurai's nen circle; but he dismissed it, a serious injury, from the burning and the numbness that had simultaneously erupted all along the concerned limb, passed off as an insignificant scratch. If it isn't incapacitating, then it's not serious, not where his goal was concerned.

Kill the leader! Cut off the head of the spider, and maybe the legs will follow soon after. Take out the man who had the gall to wear the symbol of an inverted cross, and finish the task he had undertaken. He would settle for nothing less – and he was almost there! Five – four – three more meters –

"Ow!!"

"Gon!"

Kurapika skidded to a complete stop, a mere foot away from his target, the shouted exclamations intruding into his consciousness like a bucket of ice water on a hot day. His bloodthirsty side howled a protest at the abrupt loss of motion, and at the same time he felt his last chance at escape drain away. Already the Geneiryodan were recovering from the initial surprise he'd caused, and were training their sights back at him. There would be no chance for another swift attack, for this time he was caught at an extremely awkward position, center of balance slightly off in his desperate lunge, right arm up and tensed into a claw.

Then he committed another mistake. He all but turned his back on his enemy, head swiveling to the right in the direction of the pained cry; and just as his eyes fell on the bound figures of his friends, cold steel met his neck.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't chop your head off right now."

For a fleeting, morbid second Kurapika was tempted to answer rudely, perhaps add fuel to the fire and end it all, but before he could snarl back in reply the Geneiryodan head spoke.

"Nobunaga," and with a hand raised in warning, gestured for the seething samurai to put his sword aside.

Nobunaga complied reluctantly, but only after shooting his leader an angry and confused look – sentiments that Kurapika shared at the odd command. Apparently they wouldn't kill him – yet – so he straightened slowly, and forced his hand down to his side.

_What? Are they going to torture me first?_

He found it funny that his inner voice was still able to keep its sarcastic edge up even in a situation as dire as this, and even funnier that he felt sort of detached – as if it wasn't him whose life was currently in danger. Admittedly, he did feel fear; some part of his mind undoubtedly yammering away in horror, though suppressed, and perhaps cruelly so – but if he had let it run its course he might be crying hysterically right now.

They say that anger is temporary insanity, but in this case it's definitely better than fear, so he let himself feel the anger, the hatred that had accumulated over the past five years, and felt the chains on his right hand undulate in sympathy.

But the cloak of anger crumbled a bit at the edges, the frayed ends withering in apprehension as he looked at the stern face of the Geneiryodan leader; and it took his full concentration and skill to keep the glare of defiance and hatred, even as he was seeing the face of his captor clearly for the first time.

Black hair entirely slicked back with gel gave the face a predatory, unforgiving appearance. His eyes were quite large, contradictory to the stereotypical narrow-eyed look of villains, but a closer look showed that they were a deep obsidian black, nearly emotionless in the way they were obscured by shadows. An ornate cross marking decorated the wide forehead. And if he'd passed the gang leader on the streets without knowledge of the other's true identity he would have thought the other's outfit quite ridiculous. As it was, though, he had no right to laugh at other people's choice of garments. His smart-ass, side-comment-y inner voice suddenly came up with a vain complaint about not wanting to die in _pink_ female receptionist clothes, and he had to fight to swallow a choke of dismay.

Well, overall, the Geneiryodan head was actually an attractive man… if only he'd wipe that infuriating smirk off his face!

"I have proposal to make," the object of his scrutiny said suddenly, deep baritone echoing unnaturally in the eerily silent caverns of the abandoned building.

_Like I'd agree to anything _you_ say_, Kurapika had started to retort, but his words died in his throat as the other plowed on without waiting for an answer.

"If you can strike me down before either Machi or Hisoka over there is able to inflict grievous harm on your friends, then you are free to go."

The single sentence sounded like a death knell to Kurapika's ears.

**_My, aren't we being uncharacteristically poetic –_**

_Shut up!!! How can he do that?!? It's… it's impossible! I… I…_

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he would never be able to reach Gon and Killua in time. He _could_ kill the Geneiryodan head, the other man was right in front of him, relaxed and unguarded, practically inviting him to take a swing. To do that, though, would be to sentence his friends to death. That rat Hisoka and the girl named Machi would no doubt act as soon as he moved, and send Gon and Killua's heads to the floor. To say nothing of his own certain death; the other members will rip him apart, their retribution swift and vicious.

"If you agree, then go ahead and take a shot; I won't move or try to defend myself, but I will not be responsible for what might happen to your friends, and I don't care what happens to you afterwards. Should you decline, though, you will have to surrender. Unconditionally. Do you need time to think about it?"

That damned, innocuous smile again.

And no, he didn't need 'time', especially if it were offered to him by the enemy. He knew the answer all along, and it was final and irrevocable. Now they were playing with him, playing him for a fool, and he couldn't do anything about it.

His inner voice was right. It was all _his_ fault, for getting Gon and Killua in danger, for acting so rashly and letting his emotions get the better of him – heck, for even thinking of hunting down the Geneiryodan in the first place! If he hadn't befriended the two, if he'd ran away from them when they tried to contact him they wouldn't be where they were now, trussed up and a choice away from losing their lives. From where he was standing he could see his friends' wide, frightened eyes. He could see the thin line of red forming along the side of Gon's neck, dangerously near the carotid artery, caused by the razor-sharp card Hisoka was holding up. Killua, so far, was unharmed, but he had a loop of blue-tinted wire running around his own neck. Look a few feet lower and you could see bandages covering the younger boy's ankles, evidence of a wound inflicted earlier, at his very first run-in with the group.

His chains by then were clinking wildly against each other like angry vipers provoked from slumber, the agitated action mimicking his own inner turmoil. His eyes had closed sometime after hearing the leader's demand, and he didn't see his captors tensing at the tinkling sound, or the way they stared at his right hand in apprehension.

Why was he always such a burden for his friends? Even back in the Hunter examination he'd caused them undue grief by stubbornly refusing to finish off the fake Geneiryodan convict quickly.

No more… Kurapika suddenly felt very, very tired. Tired of fighting, of having to constantly watch his back, of pretending to be something he hadn't wanted to be in the first place… Fate was cruel, indeed, to have chosen him to be the last surviving member of the Kuruta clan. He was a scholar, not a fighter. His father, or even his sister would have made better candidates. They wouldn't have had difficulty taking revenge, or felt guilt as he had when he killed Ubogin. He should have died along with his clan five years ago.

_Well, no time like the present to rectify _that_ mistake,_ Kurapika thought bitterly.

But first, to get Gon and Killua away from here. He'd be damned if they were to die with him in this godforsaken place. They were still young; they had bright futures ahead of them. He _will not_ let this event stain their paths.

He forced himself to calm down; it was a surprisingly easy task, given that surrendering violently went against his survival instincts. It could only mean that he had already accepted his own death. Seconds later he felt the last traces of his nen dissipate and then disappear, as his body went into the aura-less state known as Zetsu.

It was quite ironic that the technique he'd planned on using to bring about the downfall of the Geneiryodan would now be used as his gesture of submission.

"Good."

No need to open his eyes to see the satisfaction on _that_ one. Better if he kept them closed, though. He might not be able to control himself if he opened them again.

"Paku."

And that would be the memory-reader now. Kurapika kept his eyes closed, head bowed low, hair hiding his face in shadow. He felt the tension in the room rise sharply as footsteps clicked closer. They probably thought that he might attack suddenly – not surprising, since it would be folly to trust him. But, no, he would never attack now; to go back on his word after waving his white flag would be meaningless, and show that he was no better than them.

Well… he might try to do so… but only after getting them to agree to releasing Gon and Killua, and only when the two were at least miles away from the cluster of buildings.

He made no move to hide his flinch when a hand grasped his right shoulder.

"What is your reason for wanting to hunt us?" a rich, even alto asked.

_Because I hate you and everything you stand for._

But the unspoken answer was in vain, for Kurapika knew that she wasn't really asking for it, rather, she was looking for his memories, the secrets and thoughts he would try to hide after hearing her query.

It was over. He knew of no way to block her probes. They would now know of his secrets, his past, and worst of all, his weaknesses. It was one thing to be killed by the people he'd sworn revenge on; it was entirely another matter if they killed him using his weaknesses.

He would have to see to that. Later.

The woman named Pakunoda asked another question, this time about how he'd obtained his abilities, but Kurapika paid her no heed. She would get to his memories either way. It was better if he stopped thinking, and let the white noise of indifference take over his senses. Thinking hurt too much, and reminded him of his past and his shortcomings.

This way they could only hurt him physically.

_I'm sorry, everyone. Mother, Father… Wait for me, I'll be with you soon._

--- end of chapter three ---

notes:

1. For clarification, Gon cries out because Hisoka pulls his head up by his hair, in order to expose his neck. The carotid arteries are the pair of major arteries to either side of the trachea. You can feel them pulsing just below the skin if you place your fingers on them.

2. Before anyone gets confused, as my sister did: The technique to bring about the downfall of the Ryodan is his Chain Jail. Whoever he catches with it will be forced to go into Zetsu, right?

Reposted on March 6, 2007.


	4. Sold My Soul To The Devil

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kurapika / Kuroro (slash, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : And next we have Killua's POV as he watches Kurapika throw away his freedom for the sake of theirs. Kuroro sets his plans into motion, while Kurapika uses his last resort to escape from the shadows of his past.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence (well, it's been stepped up a bit in this chapter, but no big deal for you guys)

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Projects. The bane of an IT student's life. Somebody shoot me.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 4 – Sold My Soul To The Devil

Killua Zaoldyeck hated feeling helpless – that crawling, frustrating feeling of not being able to do anything as events spiraled out of his control. He always felt like he was being tossed this way and that, the winds of chance and misfortune spinning him around and around, not giving him any opportunity to grab or scrabble for a foothold on anything solid. That was why he used to avoid getting involved in situations where there was a possibility of his control being wrestled from him.

_You've been doing a very poor job of it lately_, his inner voice remarked.

No shit.

First there was that incident during the Hunter exam where Hanzo broke Gon's arm to try to force him to yield; then right after when he faced the knobby-faced Frankenstein-y guy, actually his brother in disguise, resulting in that resigned, can't-do-anything-about-it feeling when he was forced to go back home with the premise of never seeing his friends again hanging over his head.

Between the hunter exam and the current York Shin fiasco was their encounter with the fox bear hunters. He had been so sure then that Konta's child was going to die. It was just his luck (and the little fox bear's) that Gon was so stubborn, and had an equally stubborn woman for an aunt.

Big failure number four happened just recently, when they were first captured by the Geneiryodan. He and Gon had taken on the bounty-hunting job fully aware that their targets were no mere foes, all several times more powerful than they were. Killua, with his past experiences with pain and mortality, had a fuller grasp of the danger they had been in, as compared to the innocent, lighter-hearted Gon. Of course there was that fear of death – but he'd acted all calm and collected, not showing any sign of weakness or fear to the enemy, until that samurai decided to arm-wrestle with a boy half his size. That time, with Gon pinned to the table by one of the more cruel-looking members, and him unable to move in defense of his friend, paralyzed by Hisoka's overwhelming aura, was one of his most horrifying experiences to date. It resulted in him nearly throwing his life away just so Gon could escape, the willing decoy to draw that persistent samurai's attention while his friend slipped away. Again, Gon's stubbornness was the only thing that had stood between him and death.

It would take someone really stupid not to realize that all his recent shows of actual human emotion was a direct result of having friends to care for and worry about. Irumi was right, from an assassin's point of view. His friends _could be_ considered burdens. They had awakened in him dormant feelings of camaraderie and caring, both hindrances to someone who used to make a living by killing.

Killua knew better, though, else he wouldn't be here in the first place.

But – damn whatever fates had decided to put them in this situation!! He _couldn't_ move, couldn't even shout in frustration, and he'd be dead if he so much as twitched. Gon, to his right, shared a similar fate; only it was that perverted Hisoka who restrained the younger boy. And the tension in the room was incredible! He could feel the anger and the menacing waves of nen radiating from every Geneiryodan in the room. It was worse than the times Irumi subjected him to his _Ren_-enhanced tauntings, and right now the hostile aura wasn't even directed at him or Gon!

_Kurapika__…_

Yes, the mother of all failures, currently staring him in the face. Kurapika had woken up barely a minute ago, and was now being forced to choose between attacking, which would mean the gang leader's death, the probable disbanding of the Geneiryodan, and certain death for all three of them; or surrendering, which would mean being defeated by his mortal enemies, also death – most likely painful – at their hands, and the slight chance that the Geneiryodan would be merciful enough to let Gon and Killua go.

_Kurapika__ you idiot!! Why the hell did you stop?_

This was the weakness Irumi had told him about. Friends were burdens, and could be used against you in a fight. Kurapika had been doing fine until Hisoka made Gon cry out in pain. The blond's sudden attack had surprised all of them, even the formidable Geneiryodan members. He could have taken the leader out by now if he hadn't stopped.

_But… aren't you glad, that he _had_ stopped? Otherwise you'd be dead by now –_

Killua ruthlessly quashed that thought before it could turn into something more tangible than just a mutinous idea. Kurapika was his friend! He shouldn't think like that! The Geneiryodan would surely kill him if he turned himself over to them!

... Some Zaoldyeck he was. Even if he didn't die here, his father would kill him if the Zaoldyeck patriarch found out that his son had gotten himself captured and used as a hostage.

His father… escaping would have been a cinch for his father. Heck, Silva Zaoldyeck could probably take on all twelve members with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back! Or Irumi, for that matter – Killua loathed to admit it, but his elder brother wouldn't have had difficulty escaping, either, if the blank-faced assassin were in his place.

…

Who was he kidding?! Both elder Zaoldyecks wouldn't have allowed themselves to be placed in such a humiliating situation in the first place!!

_Enough! Now is not the time for self-pity… Kurapika… Kurapika's… he's not going to give up… is he?_

The next few seconds found Killua staring in growing horror as Kurapika's nen – which moments before had been blazing at par with the frightening auras enveloping the room – slowly dwindled and tapered off, like a gushing faucet being cut off; and finally, the flow completely stopping, making the nen wielder vulnerable to any kind of attack.

"Good," The Geneiryodan head said quietly. He then called the woman who had the ability to read memories.

_Zetsu__… why… he's really… surrendering? No… Kurapika… Don't!_

Of course, the other boy couldn't hear him, unless Killua suddenly developed telepathic powers on the spot, so he could only watch helplessly, railing mentally in vain as Kurapika stood stock-still, the very picture of submission, not even making an effort to stop Pakunoda from obtaining his memories.

This was so unlike the Kurapika Killua had come to know. Kurapika's hatred for the Geneiryodan ran so deep, his anger at his clan's murderers so unfathomable, that he'd go berserk when seeing or hearing anything related to the group, be it a real spider or even the name itself. The old Kurapika wouldn't have given up as easily as this… and as far as goals in life went, Killua knew that the blond lived solely for the purpose of bringing his clan's killers to justice.

The only thing that would make him choose something over that goal… is his friends. Gon and Killua's safety over his own.

_Damn it._

The woman stepped away after a couple of minutes, and she and the leader went into the small room the latter had pointed out before Kurapika interrupted them. If he weren't so distracted Killua would have tried to find out what they were going to do, what the gun Pakunoda was fingering earlier was for, but as it was, he had more weighing matters to think about. Nor did he notice that Hisoka had removed the card from Gon's neck, and that the other boy was free to do anything except brash and threatening actions, so he could only jump in surprise when Gon suddenly yelled.

"Kurapika!!"

He wasn't the only one who was startled, though. Killua saw Kurapika stiffen visibly, his previously slumped posture tensing into a coiled spring.

"Kurapika, you're bleeding!"

Trust his innocent, single-minded companion to point out the obvious. The wound was nothing compared to what the Geneiryodan were _really_ capable of doing. Still, it couldn't be left unattended to. The cut was deep, the coppery smell of blood unmistakable from where Killua stood. The red fluid had all but dyed Kurapikas's left sleeve crimson – not even a patch of pink was left. He could also tell by the way his friend's arm hung limply, the fingers unmoving and stiff, that Kurapika had no control over his left arm anymore. The muscles have been severed – the samurai's blade had actually penetrated through the bone. A few more centimeters and the whole limb would have come off.

"Hmm… This small scratch?"

Uh oh. It was the sadistic little creep who had restrained Gon, the one who kept on expressing his desire to kill them on the spot. He had cruel eyes, and a slow drawl, which made Killua shiver unconsciously the first time he heard it. Not good… he had sidled up to Kurapika after Gon drew attention to the injury, and was now eyeing the taller boy hungrily – like a cat looking at a caged bird.

"That's not a wound!" the shortest Ryodan member sneered derisively. "Oi, Nobunaga, you're losing your touch!"

"Shut up, shrimp! Like _you_ moved when he attacked!"

A cold laugh was Feitan's only reply to the samurai's disgruntled mutter. It seemed like he was going to leave the taunt at that – and so even the Geneiryodan members themselves were surprised when he suddenly grabbed Kurapika's arm, right on the open wound.

The pain must have been excruciating. Kurapika's head snapped up, eyes opening for the first time since hearing the gang leader's ultimatum. Amazingly, they were still in their crimson state, the red orbs mirroring shock and pain at the rough contact. He was obviously still agitated, and looked like the slightest provocation could push him to attack again. He didn't move though; only a gasp of pain and gritted teeth indicated his distress as Feitan slowly tightened his hold on the injury, no doubt aggravating the damage.

"Hhn… You've got a high threshold of pain…"

"Feitan! Didn't dancho say not to do anything to him?" the guy with the computer exclaimed.

"Since when did you become such a spoilsport, Shalnark? I'm not going to kill him."

Shalnark sighed. "Suit yourself. Don't say we didn't warn you, though."

Feitan turned his attention back to the wincing blond, and tightened his grip again. The blood flow had actually stemmed off a bit before this, but now it welled anew at the onslaught.

Killua could see that it was all Kurapika could do not to cry out in pain. It was bad before when his friend was still using nen, but now that he had placed himself in Zetsu he didn't even have the luxury of using the strengthening aspect of his nen to take at least deaden the sting of the wound.

_He's… that bastard's actually enjoying this! They're monsters… all of them! Not even Father's this cruel… Stop it… Please stop!_

Killua suddenly realized that he was trembling in rage. He didn't know if it was because of Feitan's manic sneer, or yet another reminder of his own inability to help his friends. He would have stepped forward… would have undone his bonds to rush to Kurapika's aid… if not for the tug the girl behind him gave him, or the slight tightening of the wire around his neck – warning him that to put even a single toe out of line would mean his death.

_Coward_, something inside him sneered._ Can't even risk your neck to help your friend._

_No… I can't… I don't… I –_

"Stop it!!!"

Gon. The younger boy had actually cried out, despite the fact that Hisoka was just beside him, could kill him at a moment's notice. The yell before wasn't as risky as the one he gave now; the prevailing atmosphere then was more relaxed than the let's-torture-the-prisoners mood they were in right now.

"Stop, please! You're hurting him!"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" Feitan snarled, then twisted his wrist so that his sharp nails were now _digging_ into the exposed flesh of the wound. This time Kurapika wasn't able to hold back the cry of pain, or stop his other hand from coming up to clutch at the bloodied mess that was Feitan's hand clawing at the horrendous gash on his arm. His reactions, though, served nothing but to excite his tormentor further.

'This can't even begin to say what blondie here will be getting for daring to come after us!"

"Forget about your friend, kid. The only thing waiting for him is a slow, painful death for killing one of our own. If I were you I'd be minding my own business. If you're well-behaved the leader might even spare you," the girl behind them said to Gon.

"But… but…"

"Feitan!"

Amazingly, the tension level in the room dropped with that single bark. All the other members seemed to relax, as their leader stepped out from the room he and the memory-reader had disappeared into. Out of the corner of his eyes Killua saw Shalnark mouth an "I told you so" to Feitan – whose small eyes narrowed even further at the action.

He felt like he was missing something. All the members – albeit Feitan and Hisoka, of course – were acting almost… human. He'd thought that they'd be torturing Kurapika by now, but they actually seemed reluctant to go near the blond, instead keeping to their posts and guarding all three of them from their positions.

His puzzlement over the members' behaviors increased tenfold, when he finally looked at the face of their leader.

Was he imagining things, or was the Geneiryodan head actually _scowling_ at his subordinate?

No, he wasn't. Killua _knew_ that look – it was a frown of disapproval, probably with a bit of anger thrown in. His father had often given him that look, whenever he failed to perform well in his training sessions, or did something that went against his parents' plans for him. He hated getting that look from his father; for some reason, it hurt the most out of all the punishments he'd endured over the years, even worse than the infrequent physical beatings Miyuki subjected him to.

It was also the last thing he'd expected to see in a place like this. Then… does that mean that the leader isn't planning on killing Kurapika?

Impossible. There must be a more horrible reason behind all of this – an ulterior motive, or a more frightening sentence. There were worse things than death, after all.

"Che…" Feitan growled, giving Kurapika's injured arm one last rough shake before releasing it. "We'll be killing him sooner or later, anyway, so what's the difference?"

No one answered his muttered question, nor did he wait for a reply as he sauntered back to his position beside the man called Phinx. He casually slid his hand back into his pocket, not even caring that Kurapika's blood was getting onto his clothes as he did so.

The leader was still scowling even as Feitan retreated, the look he directed at the other's back one that plainly said, "I'll deal with you later". Killua couldn't be too sure, though, for it disappeared after a second, to be replaced by the usual expressionless poker face as he turned to look at Kurapika, who had gone back to looking at the floor. For a minute or so he stared down at the blond, seemingly trying to decide on something, and just as it looked like he was about to talk, Kurapika beat him to it.

"Let them go… please." The last he was only able to grind out after a bit of effort, but just the fact that he had spoken, the first time since waking up, and had dared to ask them for something that he must know they won't just easily give him, was enough to send the room's occupants into surprised silence.

"Geez… he even sounds like a girl," Phinx muttered.

"Let them go," Kurapika repeated, "They've nothing to do with any of this."

"They were helping you track us. That can hardly be called 'not involved', can't it?" the leader remarked.

"Only because I asked them to do so. They wouldn't have gone after you on their own."

_Uhh__, Kurapika… we did, the first time,_ Killua thought.

"I don't think so. Why then were they able to deny knowledge of you when we caught them a week ago?" Nobunaga asked. "That means they came after us on their own!"

"You asked the wrong question. They didn't know that I was the one you were looking for at that time."

_Kurapika__… Why are you trying so hard to take all the blame? They'll see through you… that Pakunoda – she's seen your memories, she'll know that we practically forced you to let us help…_

"I'm the only one you're after, right?" The corners of Kurapika's lips quirked upwards, but with his hair still covering his eyes the effect was ironic, sardonically morbid. "It would probably mean nothing to you, but I give you my word that I won't fight back, or try to escape. You don't have to use them as hostages."

_Idiot… Idiot!! Don't do this! We didn't ask for you to sacrifice yourself… We didn't ask for your help!_

"Damn right that your word's worth nothing!" growled the samurai, who was getting more and more angry with each passing second. "Dancho! You're not just going to believe him, are you?"

"One thing that you apparently don't know about the tribe that you slaughtered so mercilessly five years ago, is that the Kuruta are incapable of lying," Kurapika said, his quiet, conversational tone so at odds with the emotions facing him that what he said seemed pure and truthful beyond doubt.

"Our eyes, when red, have the ability to see through any kind of deceit. We were raised to value truth above anything else, to balance out that telepathic skill."

_What? I didn't know that._ Killua wondered if Kurapika was pulling their legs even as he was telling them about not being able to lie.

"Only if you let them go," the blond said calmly, now raising his head to look the Geneiryodan leader in the eye.

"Fine," the dark-clad man finally said after a minute of staring into the root of all their troubles. "Paku."

_No. This can't be happening…_

Too horrified to do anything else except to stare dumbly at the figure of his friend, Killua didn't react when the woman named Pakunoda circled around to their backs, and nor did it register until the very last second why she had done so.

Something hard connected with the back of his head, and Killua had just enough time to realize that the same thing was happening to Gon, before darkness completely swallowed him in blissful unawareness.

-- -- -- -- --

Their prisoner whirled around at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, shock and betrayal in his youthful face as he watched his friends collapse to the floor. He must have come up with the worst conclusion possible, for when his gaze snapped up to meet Kuroro's own he could see the fury once again leaking out of the red orbs.

"What –"

"Only unconscious. Pakunoda has put them to sleep for a while. They should be up and about in three hours' time," Kuroro said smoothly.

"…Why are you doing this?"

"What you're trying to do, what I plan on having you do – I think it'd be best if they don't know what will happen. You're thinking that you should cut all contacts with them, aren't you? That getting them involved in your problems will only place them in danger."

Bingo. Kuroro could practically see the chain assassin – Kurapika – mentally taking a step back, his blunt statement hitting uncomfortably close to home. These self-sacrificing, friends-first types are just so predictable.

"After you agree to my terms, I'll have three of my men take them into the city, somewhere that will take them time to find their way back after they wake up. Is that good enough for you?"

The blond's only answer was another hanging of the head, the seemingly tired posture and submissive assent stirring up strange, unidentifiable emotions within Kuroro's chest.

_This again… what the hell is this feeling?_

He'd felt it three times now, once out in a dimly-lighted alley, when he had discovered that the chain assassin was actually a boy; and the second only recently, when he had finished receiving their captives' memories from Pakunoda, and come back to find Feitan hurting Kurapika. It wasn't pity, and nor was it guilt… But it's most probably his yet-unknown reason for bringing the Kuruta back instead of killing him out in the rain.

_Enough of that… first things first…_

"I believe what you said about not lying. However, I'll need something more concrete," Kuroro started, ignoring the disbelieving looks some of his subordinates were giving him. They'd never questioned his authority before, but they might, after this. Kuroro thought back to the conversation he had with his second-in-command just a few minutes ago.

_"What? Dancho, are you serious?"_

_"I… Yes. I'm not yet sure if what I'm doing is the right thing… but, call it a hunch. I've a feeling that things will turn out okay."_

_"Why not just steal his nen and be done with it?"_

_"It's not that simple, Paku. You saw it yourself. His abilities are far too complex for me to just steal. They're… interconnected somehow; one aspect can't exist without the others. I might even kill him if I tried to take his nen. Then what use will that be even if I'm able to obtain his abilities?"_

_"…I don't think Nobunaga will be happy with this."_

_That's the understatement of the century,_ Kuroro thought sourly. _If they don't rise in mutiny against me…_

"I want you to use your Judgment Chain on yourself."

_Surprise, surprise,_ Kuroro thought, watching Kurapika's red eyes narrow in confusion, then widen in realization. _You didn't expect that, now, did you?_

"Paku and I will be watching very closely. We know how your nen works, so don't try to pull any stunts. I will only release your friends if you do exactly as I say, and agree to the conditions I will be giving. Anything funny, and Paku will kill them immediately."

He wasn't sure if the blond would agree; he seemed like someone who'd rather die than be imprisoned by his own nen. He'd expected that Kurapika might try to haggle, or at least object a bit, so it was his turn to be surprised when he felt the boy activate his nen.

Kuroro already knew what the chains looked like, and how they worked as well as their owner did – thanks to the memories Pakunoda had stolen – even had the misfortune of falling prey to Chain Jail once; but he still couldn't hold back his fascination and awe at seeing something so beautifully intricate being crafted right out of thin air. Kurapika was holding his right hand up, giving everyone a clear view of the steel links as they came to life.

Well, he was the only one getting awed, it seemed. The others were tensing up again. Kuroro couldn't blame them, but they needn't have worried. Kurapika wouldn't be targeting any of them, this time. The chain attached to the littlest finger separated from the length around Kurapika's wrist; then floated up, the tiny blade at its tip waving, looking like the weaving head of a stalking cobra.

"State your conditions," Kurapika said tonelessly.

Kuroro recalled the conditions he had thought of while talking to Pakunoda. They had to be perfectly worded, not leaving anything out, for his plan to work.

"First, you will become a member of the Geneiryodan, and take Ubogin's place in the group. You will have to abide by its code and its rules, foremost of which is loyalty to it and its members. That means no betraying or attacking any of the members. Also, you'll have to obey me, as long as my orders are not harmful to the group."

First one down, one more to go. Kuroro _did not_ want to think about what the others are thinking of him right now.

"Second… Ordinarily Geneiryodan members are free to go wherever they want, and only converge when I call a meeting, or plan a mission, but you will have to travel with me. You will stay within my line of sight at all times, unless I say otherwise."

Here Kuroro stopped, thinking back to see if he'd missed anything. That was the best he could come up with; hopefully he'd chosen his words carefully enough to prevent any loopholes around the conditions.

"Is that all?" Kurapika asked suddenly.

"Yes," Kuroro answered, now unnerved at the mechanical way the blond was agreeing to everything he asked for. Something isn't right… "Do you accept both conditions?"

Kurapika nodded, and hastily Kuroro focused his nen around his eyes. _Gyou_ allowed him to see the normally-invisible auras, whether hidden or out in the open. If he concentrated enough he could somewhat distinguish the kinds of auras around him, and now it should enable him to check if Kurapika was doing exactly as expected. The boy wasn't in any position to try to change the conditions, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Pakunoda was doing the same thing a few paces away, and if Kurapika did attempt to change the conditions, his second would be in the perfect position to kill the other two hostages.

Again, all their precautions weren't needed. One moment he was watching Kurapika turning the conditions into the nen source that would make the Judgment Chain work; the next, he was staring at the spot where chain disappeared into flesh. He had to keep reminding himself that the chains weren't real, that they were actually made of nen; still, the way they seemed to penetrate into Kurapika's chest without drawing blood was perturbing.

Whatever the conjured chains were doing to the blond's heart must be painful, by the way Kurapika was drawing deep, shuddering breaths. Kuroro also knew, from the other's memories, that Kurapika had planned on doing that to _him_, to seal _his_ abilities and cut off his access to the rest of the Geneiryodan.

_I am _so_ glad that I didn't have to go through that._

"It's done," Kurapika said quietly when he finally lowered his hand, now devoid of the conjured chains.

Kuroro resisted the insane urge to shout "welcome to the family!" at the top of his lungs, instead looked up to meet the confused and uncomprehending gazes of the other members. He sighed.

_Out of the frying pan, and into the fire…_

Not having seen the memories yet, they didn't know the significance of what the Kuruta had just done to himself. He wasn't a danger anymore; his own Judgment Chain would kill him as soon as he tried to attack any of the twelve remaining Geneiryodan members. Despite that they were still highly-strung, mindful of the fact that Kurapika wasn't going back into his Zetsu state, and was standing there with full access to his abilities.

_I am _not_ having my newest replacement killed, after all that negotiation I did,_ Kuroro thought, now feeling slightly tired after everything that had happened starting from the hotel.

"Paku will explain. You don't have to if you don't want to, though," he said cryptically by way of explanation. No sense revealing his second's abilities just yet to their newest member. There will be time for introductions later. "Go ahead; he can't attack anymore," he added when it seemed that his subordinates were hesitant about leaving him alone with the enemy.

"But I'll need three of you to take the kids into the city," Kuroro said after Pakunoda started to walk towards the back room they used awhile ago.

_Hisoka__, huh?_ The magician was volunteering for the second task, picking up the black-haired kid nonchalantly. _Just what are you thinking, I wonder?_

Machi gave a small huff, then moved to pick the other unconscious hostage up. Bonorenolf approached her seconds after.

"You're injured. Will you be all right?" Kuroro asked the blue-haired girl.

"It's just delivery, right?"

"Yes. A couple of kilometers from here would be fine, but it's preferable if they're disoriented a bit when they wake up."

"Then this should be pretty easy," she said, waving his concern aside with her usual silent confidence.

"Machi. If he tries to leave, don't stop him," Kuroro said, voice low enough that only she and Bonorenolf would be able to hear; his eyes on Hisoka, whose back was to them and was walking toward the exit with the boy slung across one shoulder.

Machi looked startled, but nodded to show that she understood. Then the three of them left.

Kuroro couldn't begin to guess what Hisoka was thinking, let alone try to punish him for breaking the group's codes. They couldn't afford to fight him right now, or lose his power, for that matter, so it would probably be best if they let things run their course, see what the enigmatic magician would do, then counter afterwards.

Shalnark, Nobunaga, Coltopi, and Phinx had followed Pakunoda into the room, while Shizuku seemed to be waiting for Franklin. The latter had approached Kurapika while Kuroro was talking to Machi, and was now regarding the young man with something akin to puzzlement in his eyes.

"Why aren't you reacting? Aren't you worried that we might go back on our word? For all you know, they could be taking your friends into the city to kill them."

Kurapika didn't answer at once, with his eyes closed once again it seemed that he didn't hear Franklin's question. It was a few more seconds after when he spoke, and his voice was eerily flat.

"If you were going to kill them you would have done so in front of me."

Franklin could do nothing but blink and stare, taken aback by the matter-of-fact statement their prisoner gave.

"He understands us well," the large man finally rumbled to Kuroro, before turning around and walking towards the back room with Shizuku close on his heels.

That left only three of them in the room. Feitan was standing to one side, still watching Kurapika with distrustful eyes, while said blond now had his head lowered, hair falling around his eyes. Kuroro would wager that they were still red… he may have bound the boy to them, but that didn't mean that the grudge had been forgotten. Most likely Kurapika wasn't moving, or was avoiding looking at them directly in order not to lose his self-control.

_We're not actually at fault for the massacre of your tribe, you know… That is why… I will show you, what really happened, five years ago._

That, and Kurapika was already an unofficial member, whether he agreed or not. Killing one of them gave him the right to join their group. And since they would have to find a replacement sooner or later… someone who could utilize all nen types at one hundred percent was as good as Ubogin, who had superhuman strength and endurance.

_He'd probably be mortified to find out that he had actually become one of us when he killed Ubo..._

And Nobunaga and Feitan can object all they want, but they can't deny the fact that Kurapika had very useful abilities, and could become one of their greatest assets with the right conditioning.

_Let's not forget your still 'unknown' reason for bringing him here in the first place…_

That was one problem that he had to start thinking about now. The others didn't have to know about it yet, but he was sure that the issue would come up eventually.

Kuroro, in the middle of trying to figure out why he was feeling like he'd forgotten something very important, suddenly realized that Kurapika was still bleeding from the wound Nobunaga's blade had inflicted on him. If left untreated he'd most likely bleed to death. He started to tell the blond to heal himself with Holy Chain, when his feeling of unease abruptly escalated.

_This is…_

Kuroro's eyes widened, in time to see a small dagger materializing in Kurapika's right hand. The brat had actually used _In_ to mask the fact that he was conjuring a weapon!

_That ready to die, are you?_ Kuroro thought furiously, readying himself should Kurapika try to attack.

He'd thought wrongly, though, and could only watch in confusion when the Kuruta flipped the dagger to point upwards and towards his own body.

The blond smiled.

_Ah, shit._

The blade plunged towards Kurapika's chest.

--- end of chapter four ---

notes:

1. "Zaoldyeck" – got this spelling from one of the pictures I've saved. No way am I using "Zoldick"; the second syllable isn't appropriate. Besides, "Zaoldyeck" looks cooler and more noble. :)

2. Feitan fans, I apologize for making him the aggressor here, but he was the only one besides Nobunaga I could use to torture Kurapika. Nobunaga's part will be coming later.

3. che – random Japanese swear word

4. That bit about Kurapika not being able to lie… I just made that up for the story's sake. I've forgotten all the specific facts about the Kuruta in the anime, so I'll probably be making up more things as I go along. Is that okay with you guys?

Reposted on March 6, 2007 with a fair bit of editing, because there are a lot of inner dialogues in this chapter.


	5. Changing Tides

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kuroro handles Kurapika's suicide attempt while Killua and Gon are reunited with Leorio and Senritsu.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Am being distracted by Breath of Fire V. You guys can kill me now.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 5 – Changing Tides

Kuroro Lucifer wasn't the type to complain whenever embroiled in bizarre or dangerous situations. He thought and strategized, seized opportunities as they came, milked chances for all they're worth – and to hell with the consequences, as long as they were beneficial to him and his Spiders. Their principles might not impress moralists, but it was how they operated; how they dealt with whatever life handed them.

Right now, though, strategizing was the last thing on his mind.

_Why the hell do I do these things to myself…_

Yes, Kuroro was actually whining, asking the infamous 'why me' question even though he knew that no one would be there to answer him. Well, he had done everything he could, hadn't he? He'd found Ubogin's replacement, effectively ensured that the chain assassin would never be able to attack them without killing himself first, and if all went according to plan, recruited a strong, if initially unwilling ally. He'd set the stage that he thought would be best for everyone, and it wasn't his fault if the blond in question decided not to follow the script.

… Actually, it was. There was a loophole in his conditions. A large, glaring loophole. Kuroro cursed himself when the realization hit him. He'd forgotten to count the possibility that the boy would be vindictive enough to try to kill himself, rather than become a member of the group he hated so much. He'd have to deal with that later. A direct order should be sufficient; following his orders fell under the first condition.

If there was a later – for Kurapika, that is. The Kuruta was surprisingly _strong_, unbelievably so, if you considered how unassuming and thin his limbs were. Kuroro had acted quickly enough, intercepting the knife before it could pierce the boy's chest; but still it edged closer to its target, even though Kuroro was already straining to wrest it away from the other's hands. Desperation must be adding to Kurapika's strength, plus the fact that he had full control of all nen types at his Scarlet Eyes state…

_Ah, no, the others are coming out… They see this, they'll shoot first without asking questions…_

True enough, he could see Pakunoda standing at the door of the back room, face registering shock at the scene in front of her. He had only a few seconds left to subdue the boy; if the more explosive Phinx or the temperamental Nobunaga saw them fighting over a knife, they'd think that Kurapika was attempting to attack their leader. The chain assassin wouldn't have to try so hard to commit suicide then, the rest of the group would just as happily do him in.

"Dancho!"

_Let go, you idiotic – eh?_

"Let go" was exactly what Kurapika did – the knife suddenly clattered to the floor, and disappeared just as quickly as it had materialized. Kuroro also released his tight hold on Kurapika's arms, and now watched in growing confusion as the young man slowly backed away.

"Dancho, what happened?"

"He attacked you, didn't he? The son of a –" Kuroro raised his hand, silencing Nobunaga's furious shout, and stopping the samurai from drawing his sword any further than he already had.

"This is what happens when you don't kill the enemy right away," Feitan sighed dramatically.

If anyone reacted to Feitan's statement, Kuroro didn't notice, eyes and ears focused solely on the chain assassin in front of him. To say that he was confused was an understatement. Kurapika seemed really determined to kill himself, so why the sudden turnaround? And why did he go through the trouble of conjuring a knife, when it would be easier to just break the conditions and let his own chain do the rest? Finally, why was the boy acting like he was now, hand clutching his shirt over his heart, and breathing like there was no tomorrow?

When the answers came, Kuroro didn't know if he should hit himself or the blond – him for his stupidity, or the other for his twisted sense of pride. He checked Kurapika's breathing: through the mouth – quick, huge gulps, and prolonged, shaky exhalations. His eyes were back to their normal blue, when they were an angry red just seconds ago. The pupils were also contracted – the boy was frightened, almost in shock.

Kurapika _had_ planned on killing himself all along, and had probably decided on the action the moment he had awakened and found out that his mission had failed. Obviously his friends didn't know about his decision; his action screamed "final sacrifice" in big neon letters. He was also counting on the likely possibility that the Geneiryodan would leave the city immediately once he'd killed himself, thereby eliminating the threat the group posed to his friends. What he hadn't counted on was Kuroro intervening with his suicide attempt. His fighting with the Geneiryodan head over the knife had then triggered the first condition of the Judgment Chain, which was what had caused him to drop the knife like a hot poker. But since he wasn't fighting the other man directly, the chain must have given him only a tiny twinge.

Kuroro had seen Kurapika's memories, and the severe conditions he had imposed on himself in order to increase the strength of his abilities. The younger man had developed the nen chains solely for the purpose of capturing the members of the Geneiryodan; to have his enemies use those same abilities to bind _his_ movements must have been the last blow. At least Kuroro now knew the most effective way to control the Kuruta… threaten him with death by the Judgment Chain forcibly enforced on him. It would be the final indignity, being killed by one's own hard-won abilities; the knife was proof of that. Not that he was afraid of being killed by his own chain; rather, it was the stubborn determination not to die _because_ of it. He was literally a prisoner now – the last freedom left to him would be escaping from his captors through suicide, preferred means of death _anything_ except the Judgment Chain.

Twisted. The whole notion was twisted, absurd, and would make for a delightful case of philosophical perversity if the situation weren't so serious. Kuroro himself and his subordinates dealt with death everyday; their profession practically demanded that they live with it, which was why they knew that death is not something to be taken lightly. Did Kurapika even know what he was tempting when he created the knife?

No, if his reaction to nearly dying was any indication.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Kuroro demanded, voice harsher than he would have intended. Kurapika flinched at his stern tone, and Kuroro felt something inside of him crumble. He ruthlessly stamped at the foreign emotion.

"You probably won't believe me, but there's more to life than revenge. And I'm sorry, but I won't have you die just yet."

Kurapika looked up at him, brow furrowing in confusion, and Kuroro realized that he had just apologized.

_You're getting soft, Kuroro, old boy…_

Damn his inner critic anyway.

"You're Geneiryodan now, whether you like it or not, and that means you'll have to follow my orders. And the first order of the day is that you will not do anything to harm yourself. Anything along the lines of suicide is a direct infraction of that order. Do you understand?"

Kurapika's eyes narrowed slightly, rebellion and indignation flickering in their depths – Kuroro could practically hear the boy's refusal to obey – but moments later he averted them to look at the floor, gritted teeth signaling that he would make an effort to comply.

_For now,_ Kuroro continued mentally. _I'll have to watch him very closely, in case he tries something like that again._

"Heal yourself."

This time, the other Geneiryodan didn't react when Kurapika's eyes turned red once more, and his right arm positioned perpendicularly across his left, which he could move only a few centimeters away from his body. Having received his memories from Pakunoda, they knew what to expect when the chains materialized. A small flick of the thumb sent the Holy Chain, tipped with the delicate-looking cross, floating gently towards the gash on Kurapika's left arm, where it wound itself once around the limb, before settling on top of the wound itself.

Exactly eight seconds later only the blood was left to show that there ever was a wound… and of course, the blood-soaked sleeve, which Kurapika ripped off right after the gash closed.

Phinx gave a low whistle of admiration, and Kuroro smiled inwardly. Now at least someone else other than himself was starting to see that the Kuruta would make a valuable ally. That horrific wound, using conventional means, would have taken months to heal, at least a couple of weeks with nen, and a few seconds with Machi's surgical abilities – but with a heavy tag price. Right now the blond could only heal his own injuries; but with the proper training, most likely focusing on the releasing aspect, he'd probably be able to treat other people, too. Plus, Kuroro knew that he was too noble to ask for millions of zenny for each wound closed.

"Oi, did you see that?" Phinx asked, making vague hand gestures that resembled closing objects – first a zipper, then a drawstring bag, then a door. "It closed, just like that!"

"Feitan's right, Nobu. You _are_ losing your touch," Franklin suddenly deadpanned.

Whatever the samurai yelled in self-defense was lost in a sudden spike of disbelief and annoyance. Kurapika had been rotating his left shoulder slowly, stretching the previously injured arm, and clenching and unclenching his fist. At first Kuroro thought that he was trying his arm out – checking to see if it was really fully operational again; but the petulant glare now being directed at him indicated otherwise. "There. It's healed. Back in working order. You happy now?" it said.

Kurapika was purposely swinging his arm around just to annoy him, much like how an ill-mannered student would stare at a teacher accusingly for punishing him wrongly. A tic developed under Kuroro's eye when he realized that nothing in the conditions he gave prevented the boy from attacking them verbally, or doing harmless things to annoy the hell out of the Geneiryodan members.

And he couldn't even order Kurapika to refrain from doing so, since such childish actions, technically, aren't harmful to the members, and the group's general well-being.

_Childish my ass.__ That's practically a temper tantrum! How dare he!_

"Umm, Dancho?"

"What?" Kuroro barked, unintentionally venting some of his ire at an unsuspecting (and undeserving) Shalnark.

"Are you serious?" Shalnark asked slowly, surprised that the normally level-headed Geneiryodan leader had raised his voice for no apparent reason. "I mean, you're really recruiting him? The chain assassin?"

"Yes, I'm serious; and no, I didn't hit my head on anything hard. Didn't Paku explain to you?"

A helpless shrug from Pakunoda, and uncomprehending gazes and blank stares from the rest of the group told Kuroro all that he needed to know. She did explain everything he told her to; it just hadn't sunk in, as unbelievably far-fetched his plan would have seemed to the others.

That, and the fact that Kurapika was _still_ glaring for all he was worth, red eyes and all. Kuroro wondered why the boy hadn't done anything drastic yet – like wave the finger at his back. The other members must doubt his control over the situation right now, not to mention the level of his sanity…

"Paku did, but… aren't we supposed to kill him?" Shizuku asked, her quiet, innocent tone of voice completely at odds with the way she brandished Deme-chan's teeth-ringed nozzle. "He did kill Ubo, right?"

Yes, it was going to be a looong night.

--- ooOOOoo ---

"Where the hell have you been!" Leorio yelled, as Senritsu led Gon and Killua's bedraggled figures out of the rain, and under the shelter of the waiting shed. He took in their weary and forlorn appearances, and the dread he had been feeling for the past three hours heightened another notch. "We were worried sick! What the hell happened to you two!"

"I found them in a run-down lot a few kilometers north of here," Senritsu said quietly as she shook the water from the umbrellas they had used, closing them in turn and leaning them against one of the stone benches placed in the shed for the benefit of passengers waiting for transport. The shed was empty now; no commuter would dare travel in this late hour, what with all the commotion happening in the underworld auctions the past few days.

"Are you guys alright?" Leorio asked, the doctor in him assuming command as he took the kids' vital signs and checked for injuries. "Those bastards didn't do anything to you, did they?" Outwardly they seemed fine… certainly not what he'd expected (but not wanted, of course) to see after an encounter with the ruthless Geneiryodan.

"We're okay, Leorio. Just wet, tired, and a bit sore…" said Killua, and Leorio had to sigh in relief at the confirmation. The white-haired boy then glanced at his younger friend, who looked nearly dead on his feet. "But Gon has a headache, I think," he added.

"Blow to the back of the head? You've a nasty bump at the base of your skull – Gon, too. I didn't know that there were things hard enough to knock both of you hardheads unconscious…" Leorio muttered the last sentence as an aside. These two were the strongest twelve-year-olds he knew – belay that, they were stronger than him! A blow hard enough to render them unconscious would have bashed his brains in, or left a fatal concussion at the very least.

Gon nodded, gingerly fingering said bump. "They knocked us out… then left us in that abandoned lot… But never mind that! Killua, we have to go back right now!"

"We can't just rush in… We're dead if they catch us this time around!"

"Wait! Go back? What are you talking about? Backtrack, will you?" Leorio abruptly stopped trying to figure out the reason for Gon's agitation, as confusion gave way to horrified realization. "Kurapika. Where is he? Did something happen to him?"

Senritsu replied instead of the boys, and her answer completely blindsided him. "They have him. I'm sorry, Leorio… I didn't tell you."

"W-what?"

"I've been tracking Kurapika since he entered the hotel… His heartbeat slowed down, signaling unconsciousness, about four blocks from where he was supposed to meet us. I would have tried to follow, but he and our target moved out of range too quickly for us to catch up with them."

Senritsu's explanation didn't register in Leorio's mind. "They have him." was the only sentence he'd heard and understood. It was amazing how three simple words could wipe his consciousness blank of all but a few thoughts and pictures, and they weren't even ordered, instead tumbling around the confines of his mind like ships being tossed around an angry, storm-driven sea. All of them, though, boiled down to one and only one thing.

Or person, rather.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was flat and controlled, painful to hear, and the exact opposite of what he really felt like doing at the moment – yell, curse, jump around, and rip a few heads off.

"Your heart," Senritsu said simply, catching Leorio off-guard with her indirect, and apparently off-topic answer. If she was trying to find a way to stall the point where he would suddenly explode in anger, she was doing a fine job. All he could do at that moment was to stare dumbly, and try to collect the scattered pieces of his thoughts.

"Kurapika's heart, when he's calm, sounds like a tinkling brook – quiet and melodious, and pleasing to the ear. Yours, in contrast, is like a waterfall, both powerful and nurturing; but muted, as if heard from a distance, or screened from view by trees. It becomes much clearer – as if I've walked past the screen of trees to stand directly in front of the waterfall – when you think about someone you care for very much." Senritsu said, the last slowly and deliberately, all the while looking him directly in the eye.

_She knows,_ Leorio realized.

"Lately," Senritsu continued, reading him like an open book, seeing and hearing what he had just thought of, "Kurapika's been very vengeful and angry… the gentle brook becomes a raging river. I hate hearing that kind of heartbeat the most of all. His hatred will consume him eventually, if he continues to live in the past. But I didn't do anything, except to stand by him. I know that I won't be able to stop him; his hatred runs too deep. The waves of his fury will just wash me away if I tried to stand against him."

She knew Kurapika well. Understood him perfectly, for that matter. God knows how many times he'd tried to reach past the younger boy's walls, and into the other's life and soul… _Damn it! When did everything start, anyway!_ Just when did anger and irritation leave him, instead burdening him with these unwanted – and unexpected emotions?

He remembered meeting the Kuruta for the first time – on a boat, with all the other hopeful Hunter exam applicants, heading for the examination grounds. First impressions were unflattering, to say the least. He'd branded the young man a snob right from the start, a stuck-up brat with nothing to do and more than enough time on his hands. The slight frame and girlish features certainly didn't help towards giving the boy an impressive appearance. He'd then added the word "nerd" to his list of descriptions when Kurapika had given them a very technical explanation of the St. Elmo's fire phenomenon. "Disrespectful", "impudent", and "cocky" came up next, when the blond refused to acknowledge his seniority. Actually, the resulting fight was his fault, too, for making a flippant comment about the Kuruta clan. How could he have known that Kurapika had appointed himself as the tribe's last avenger, and would have taken any insult to his clan personally, jokingly meant or not?

At least they made up – with Gon's help, and Leorio started to see that Kurapika wasn't as cracked-up as he'd initially thought he would be. First of all, the young man was unbelievably smart – a genius in logic and many other scientific fields, that Leorio had sometimes felt like an idiot just standing beside the guy. His actions were fluid and cultured, and spoke volumes about his deep personality. He had amazing leadership abilities, whether he himself realized it or not. It's no easy task to learn how to man a warship within a day, _and_ coordinate its operations among twenty-odd people who were originally competitors. Secondly, – seven months ago he would have kicked himself before admitting this to anyone else – Kurapika was an accomplished fighter, despite the feminine build; and if enraged and in his Scarlet Eyes state, could probably rival Killua in speed and momentary strength. That was then; he couldn't properly assess the blond's power right now without actually seeing him in action – but if he was able to catch and kill a Geneiryodan member without so much as a scratch, then he could already be considered the most powerful of their lot.

Undying moral convictions and fierce loyalty to friends and family made up the third good point Leorio had noticed during the exams. Kurapika stuck by his goal of becoming a blacklist hunter all throughout the tests, not wavering from his beliefs, and no shying away from danger. Leorio remembered something Gon had told him on the airship that had brought them to the final test of the Hunter examinations, about the time when they had been trapped in a cave full of venomous vipers. He'd forgotten the name of the dead examinee who'd set the trap… but, anyway, Gon said that Kurapika had been the first to think of the possibility that the viper guy might have had serum on him. The Kuruta had been preparing himself to risk death should the possibility be wrong, until Gon stepped in… If it weren't for Kurapika thinking of the presence of the serum on the dead body in the first place, Leorio would have died.

Leorio considered Kurapika a very good friend up until they went their separate ways for the last six months. He was someone you could rely on, capable enough to trust your life with – and he'd gladly return the favor should the younger boy need help or saving. Of course, he shouldn't forget Gon, the boy from Whale Island who'd endeared himself to Leorio, and saved his hide more times than he could count; or Killua, the mysterious child assassin, still a kid despite the initially cold disposition, who had his own way of showing his support for his newfound friends…

Yes, they were the best of friends, their little group of four. A strong bond had formed among them in the duration of the Hunter exams. Theirs was the kind that would stay despite distance and time. Leorio had often thought of them while he was catching up on his medical studies, and of how they were doing, each on their own…

_Absence makes the heart grow fonder…_

Damn whoever had thought of that saying. It's exactly what had happened to him – during one of his nostalgic reveries, with his medical texts scattered all over the table in front of him, he suddenly realized that his thoughts strayed to the Kuruta more often than to the two kids. Hold on, he'd told himself, then wondered as best as his bewildered mind could. Why the hell was he thinking of Kurapika's smile!

Senritsu was still talking, her smooth, comforting voice rousing him from his thoughts. "Your heartbeat changed just seconds ago, when I told you… I think you know how deafening the roar of a waterfall could be, but at least it has a sense of order and calm. Imagine how horrifying, then, in comparison, the sound of a furious sea, with howling winds and storm-driven waves. Your heartbeat sounds like that right now, even as I speak – it's fast rivaling Kurapika's anger."

Yes, he knew. He had gone through the largest storm to come in a decade with everyone else, hadn't he? Was that what his pounding heart sounded to someone with ears sensitive enough to identify a person from his heartbeat several hundred meters away?

"You would have charged blindly if I had told you, and died a senseless death. I'm sorry, Leorio, I can't let that happen. Neither will Kurapika forgive me, if I did."

He'd fallen for the blond and his rare smiles, those clear turquoise eyes that turn deep blue when their owner thought, or the color of the sky when he's relaxed or happy. His mind's eye could clearly see the way Kurapika lit up at new discoveries, and recall pretty much the whole of their journey together.

Then his stomach roiled, his chest constricted, and his heart nearly stopped, when an image – unbidden and uncalled for – intruded brusquely upon his thoughts, that of Kurapika, broken, bleeding, killed by the merciless Geneiryodan.

_God forbid!_ He would have made a warding sign if he knew any, but he could only contend with pushing the horrible image out of his mind.

Love? He wasn't sure if it was really love. It could be an infatuation, or a silly crush – heck, he didn't even want to believe that it was possible to be attracted to another man in the first place! But six months is too long a time period for something as shallow as a passing obsession; and what he was feeling right now, what he was _hearing_ – the blood pounding through his ears, the worry and fear for another person so palpable that he could almost see it rising from the tips of his toes to the top of his head – it's too deep, too vast, for it to be anything _but_ love.

"Leorio? Do you understand what I've just told you?"

And right from the mouth of the one person who could differentiate emotions and feelings from variations in heartbeats…

"Yeah," Leorio finally muttered back. "I hear you. Sorry I got mad… and thanks for stopping me, Senritsu."

The diminutive woman smiled, countenance changing from stern and worried, to comforting, but still worried. Leorio had no idea that Senritsu had done the same for Kurapika once, when he had been about to charge into battle while blinded by hatred and anger.

"Leorio… What are we going to do?" Gon asked. "We can't just stay here!"

"I know, I know. But Killua's right, we can't rush in, either… Kurapika's still alive, right?" Leorio swallowed, mouth suddenly dry at hearing himself refer to the one issue he dreaded the most. "I mean, you haven't said anything about the Geneiryodan doing anything bad to him…"

"He's fine, the last time we saw him," Killua said slowly. "But he had this huge gash on his upper left arm, from that samurai guy's sword. He'll bleed to death, if left untreated."

"Killua!" Gon almost yelled, still agitated that to hear the mention of death in relation to his friend's predicament dismayed him greatly.

"I said 'if'," the white-haired boy added hurriedly. "Besides, I don't think the Geneiryodan plan on killing Kurapika anytime soon."

"What do you mean?" Leorio asked before Gon could react again.

"Well… they were acting kind of weird… the leader in particular." Killua then recounted how the Geneiryodan head had seemed angry upon seeing one of his subordinates torturing Kurapika.

"Then he forced Kurapika to surrender unconditionally… using us as hostages. He didn't have to go that far – he didn't look like the sadistic type. The situation was totally in their favor; they could easily have ripped all three of us to pieces if they attacked all at once. I know their kind… If they wanted to kill Kurapika, they would have done so in front of an audience – us, maybe – to make a point."

Killua's eyes were shadowed as he said this, and Leorio realized that he was probably speaking from experience. He'd almost forgotten that the boy standing in front of him was actually a member of the feared assassin family.

_To think that someone could actually best a Zaoldyeck…__ Kurapika, I hope to God you're all right…_

"It seemed like the leader didn't want Kurapika to get hurt, as much as possible… He'll probably even tell Kurapika to heal himself with Holy Chain."

"What the heck does that mean? Weren't they looking for him because he killed one of their members?"

"I don't know! None of this makes sense. What I do know, is that I'd expected to be killed right where we stood. But we're still… we're still alive, and away from the Geneiryodan, because… because Kurapika…" Killua couldn't continue, and Leorio suddenly noticed that the boy was clenching his fists so tightly that the knuckles had turned white. He didn't act scared, though, and nor was he displaying signs of grief…

"Killua…?"

"We couldn't do anything," Killua ground out, teeth gritted in vexation. "Just watch as Kurapika offered his life for ours… Couldn't even protest, or lift a finger to help…"

"Killua…"

The Zaoldyeck heir looked so forlorn, so… lost, that Leorio found himself struggling against an urge to… _I dunno, comfort him or something… a pat on the shoulder, an encouraging slap to the back? … Bet he'll just bite my hand off if I tried to do that…_

A small hand on Killua's shoulder beat him to it. It was Gon, who'd been silent up until now. Killua turned to look at his friend, who was wearing a small, but comforting smile on his face.

"I know Kurapika will be fine. He's strong, right? The Geneiryodan won't be able to kill him that easily. Kurapika won't give in easily, either. He could be acting, for all we know."

It took a few seconds for Killua to regain his composure, but when he looked up again, his face was determined, a semblance of the confidence he usually displayed. "You're right. We shouldn't give up on him."

Gon smiled again and nodded happily, having accomplished mission "cheer Killua up" successfully.

"But we still don't know what to do, Gon. We have to get to Kurapika somehow, but we can't do it directly, or the Geneiryodan will just catch us again."

"That's it! Get in the car!" Leorio growled, seized by a sudden bout of impatience. Killua's statement had just brought the full weight of their situation crashing down on his shoulders, and suddenly he felt that he should move, walk – anything except just standing there like an idiot, or he'd go mad with the thought of doing nothing while Kurapika was spirited away from their grasp.

"Leorio –"

"I know, I know!" He called back to Senritsu as he sprinted towards the rental car he had gotten upon arrival at York Shin – it was parked several meters away, under the overhanging branches of one of the trees that lined the quiet boulevard. The steady shower of rain had diminished into light, sporadic drizzles in the past few minutes. It would probably stop altogether in the next half hour or so, leaving a wet but cool night in its wake. Leorio ignored the puddles of water along his way, splashing through them carelessly as he pulled the car keys out from his pocket.

"I already know better than to charge blindly," he added as the other three caught up with him. "But I can't sit still, knowing that Kurapika's in danger. Let's just think of a plan on the way to those abandoned buildings, okay?"

A glance at the rearview mirror showed Gon nodding vigorously, and Killua giving him the thumbs-up. Senritsu slid into the passenger-side front seat, the frown on her face telling him that she didn't entirely believe what he had said.

"Don't worry. Truthfully, I'm too much of a coward to go too near the Geneiryodan, but we have to find out how Kurapika's doing before we start planning anything else. I'll park just within your range, Senritsu – it should be far enough to escape detection."

"Leorio, won't the car make too much noise?" Gon asked.

"We'll need this car to escape if they do find out about us. If it's still raining then we'll have a greater chance of getting in undetected."

Senritsu gave a reluctant sigh. "Fine. But promise me not to charge ahead whatever happens, all right? I'll tell you when it's near enough for me to hear anything."

Leorio nodded, not really hearing the demand but acknowledging it for Senritsu's sake. He had just admitted that he was too cowardly to try to go up against the Geneiryodan, but who knew what they would see at the gang's hideout? He was the weakest of their group, having only learnt the most basic out of all the nen techniques, but he did know how to fight, didn't he? The least he could do was try…

They say people tend to do crazy things when in love… well, it's time to return the favor. Kurapika hadn't really risked his life for Leorio in the viper pit – Gon was the one who did that – but he knew a debt when he saw one.

And what kind of a friend would he be, if he left people behind and ran to save his own hide?

Leorio turned the ignition on, and the car roared to life. Pulling out of the parking space, he gradually picked up speed until he turned into the main roads, finally settling on a pace that wasn't too slow, but not as fast as he would have liked, either. There was a bit of traffic, after all – however late it already was, there were still people frequenting the casinos and the nightclubs. Leorio's grip on the steering wheel tightened momentarily when he thought of how ridiculously mundane and boring these people's lives must be compared to theirs

_Kurapika__, hold on… We're coming._

--- end of chapter five ---

notes:

1. Didn't mean to have the Geneiryodan members sound so stupid. They just can't accept the fact that the chain assassin's becoming one of them. Don't worry, I'll soon be getting to the parts where they realize what a great guy Kurapika really is.

2. A small request… when you review, could you please include what country you're from (or nationality)? If you guys don't mind, that is. I'm just curious about how far this thing's reaching.

Last edited on February 10, 2005


	6. On The Road To Hell

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kurapika dreams about the past, and Leorio nearly loses control.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, violence, and quite a bit of gore and death in this chapter. Squeamish people should either stay away, or try not to picture the described scenes too much.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Review number 73. First ever flame in my semi-professional writing career. So now I'm an idiot and a freak. Idiot? Must be, for starting something _this_ long and difficult to write. But I'm loving every minute of it. Freak? Probably. (laughs) A computer freak? An anime freak? A video game freak? A freak whose writing habits include typing away at 4 in the morning? (looks at the computer's clock program) Whoa, it _is_ 4 in the morning! o.O

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 6 – On The Road To Hell

_The sun set behind the distant mountains, washing the eerily silent valley in fiery red and brilliant orange hues. Wisps of clouds loomed in the horizon, darkening and gathering together as the sky cycled through an interplay of colors, signaling the possibility of rain within the next few hours. Normally on a dusk like this the small village nestled among the trees at the bottom of the valley would be a beehive of activity, husbands hurrying home after a day's work, wives bustling around preparing dinner and for the night ahead, children shrieking in delight as they chased each other around the houses and the stone paths, and livestock strutting around, squawking, mooing, snorting, chirping, meowing and barking, and generally contributing to the gay cacophony of sounds that characterized the life of a village… But everything was still. The forest was quiet, the silence deafening and unnatural. The splashing and slapping sounds of waves coming from the small river that ran through the valley floor seemed muted, and the waves themselves looked flat, the water viscous and thick. Even the leaves of the trees stayed frozen. There _was_ wind – a light, playful breeze coming down from the peak of the nearest mountain, but it brought relief to no one; only caused the slightest bit of animation in the otherwise dead village. _

_Smoke, spiraling lazily upwards from several households, caught the weak disturbance in the air and twisted into bizarre shapes and contortions. Again, if it were a normal day under normal circumstances nobody would have paid attention to the smoke and its acrobatics. But this was no mere smoke from chimneys and stoves, not the whitish-gray vapor that carried with it aromatic fumes of cooked meat and vegetables. This smoke was black, acrid and foul, its fuel no less perturbing than the appearance of the smoke itself. The sun was setting; the fiery globe already half-covered by the horizon, but there was still enough light to see just what had happened to turn the normal day into a not-so-normal one._

_Several houses were burning, or rather, had burnt down to smoldering piles of debris and ash. Small fires and glowing embers still remained here and there, consuming anything flammable within their reach; but it was obvious that the fires had started long ago, and had now exhausted all resources and materials available. Whatever structures left standing were trashed beyond recognition and repair, pockmarked with bullets and other instruments of war. The livestock had gone; some having escaped into the surrounding forest, others carted off to who knows where, and a greater number slaughtered in their pens, their bright red blood splashed across the walls, or staining the ground where they lay._

_The animals were not the only ones killed that afternoon._

_The bushes at the eastern edge of the village where clearing met forest rustled, and a lone figure stumbled out of the green fronds. It stopped short, seeing the first of the destroyed houses, and stood there, in the dim light of the dying sun, for what seemed like hours._

_The figure was a young boy in his early teens, blond hair wet and disheveled, clothing filthy with mud and bloodstains. After a few minutes he seemed to snap out of his daze, and started walking towards a specific destination, but his gait was slow and unsure, his posture slumped and weary. He trudged through the village's central stone path, now riddled with cracks and obstacles, hazardous to navigate even for the most sure-footed of hikers. Some of the said obstacles were mundane at first glance. Broken furniture, chunks of rock, blocks and pieces of wood from the houses themselves, even an overturned cart or two here and there. It was the not-so-common objects that the boy skirted, but looked at, too shocked and too numb to even react or cry out in grief as familiar faces were identified._

_Bodies, both animal and human, littered the village proper, blood pooling, and already coagulating around and under their still forms. Horrific wounds told stories of how each of them died. Most had numerous holes, bullet wounds of the automatic, machine-gun kind. Some were slashed to death, huge, gaping injuries that exposed internal organs, the cuts varying in depth and angle of piercing. Others lay twisted in grotesque poses, bodies whole but bones bent in impossible angles. A few were actually hacked to pieces, mutilated into separate parts. The boy encountered several dismembered limbs, and some headless torsos, but still he didn't break down, not even when he looked into each and every face, seeing the same thing over and over no matter how their owners had died._

_Their eyes were gone, the bloody eye sockets horrifyingly empty. Old or young, male or female, adult or child, none had been spared the nauseating harvest. Fear, anger, or despair – the boy could only try to guess what the contortions of each face indicated how each person felt at the moment of death; but all of his dead tribe mates shared the same characteristic: their eyes had been gouged out. _

_The boy staggered on, tearing himself away from the sightless gazes of his murdered kin, and headed towards one house at the other side of the village that seemed to be one of the less damaged buildings. He stumbled several times, but kept going, something inexplicably drawing him ever onwards, when other people would have collapsed in despair, or ran away in horror at the carnage all around him._

_He finally stopped before the house's yard, in front of one particularly bullet-riddled body which was lying on its back, mouth frozen in a gasp, face turned towards the darkening sky. He knew this poor soul… better than he knew the ones he'd passed, for the blood that flowed from the gaping holes stained his own clothes red, as red as the color of his eyes now…_

_The corpse had once been his father._

_The boy fell to his knees beside the body, exhaustion and anguish finally taking its toll. He made a move as if to close his father's eyes, but his hand stopped halfway when he remembered that there would be no eyes to cover. The boy began crying, weeping silent tears that barely touched the depths of his agony and sorrow. He didn't even notice when the body in front of him suddenly started to breathe._

_Kura__…pika?"_

_The boy stared in shock, sure that he'd imagined the pained whisper. But no, he finally saw the shallow breathing, and his father's attempts at communication despite his horrific injuries._

_"Father!__ How… don't move! Save your strength, I'll –"_

_"No… 's too late… 'm sorry, Kurapika…"_

_"No… No! Please, don't die!"_

_"Listen… to me… spider… Gene… yodan… don't… Kurapika… sorry…"_

_"Father?"_

_His father didn't answer. The boy knew that he would never be able to talk, would never breathe again. His red eyes saw first, what his heart and mind refused to acknowledge, the wan light of his father's life force fading and dissipating into the surroundings. For a moment he sat stock-still, his small hands still clutching his father's shirt._

_A minute later he stood and turned his face up towards the sky, which had opened up while he was sitting. Rain fell in torrents, drenching the village and washing the blood into the earth. It was as if heaven itself cried in sympathy with the lone survivor's pain._

_The boy screamed in rage, his anguished howl reaching the blood-red moon._

--- ooOOOoo ---

"Where are you now?"

It was like waking up from a dream – or nightmare, rather – only to find out that the real world was no better than another living nightmare. He'd been having that same dream, on and off for the past few weeks, every time he slept, but for it to plague him while he was still awake said something about his rapidly deteriorating mental state.

"Good. You'll reach the mansion before us."

He'd zoned out while walking… pathetic, really. One of the most important rules in surviving while in enemy territory was to stay alert and wary at all times. Even a fool would know that. And there he was, off in dreamland while surrounded by five of his worst enemies. His father would have rolled in his grave if he knew how far Kurapika had fallen.

"Do whatever you want, but don't kill the main target."

It was strange, though… It seemed that the Geneiryodan were serious about keeping him alive… at least, the one called "Dancho" was... He shrugged inwardly. Their mistake. His situation was hopeless right now, to tell the truth. Without the element of surprise, and the cover of secrecy, he would never win in a fight against any of these opponents, let alone all of them attacking together. And he had those conditions on him, which meant that his choices were limited to submission if he wanted to survive. But someday… someday he _will_ find a way to escape, and complete his revenge. For now, he will obey – much as it would pain him to do so – and take advantage of the enemy's hesitation with what to do with him.

"Everything's fine here. Just concentrate on doing your parts."

Kurapika glanced at the leader of the Geneiryodan, a mere couple of feet in front of him. Two more flanked him, and the last two bringing up the rear. He was smack-dab at the middle of their little formation, all chances of escaping cut off. He wouldn't try, even if he could. It would be a direct infraction of the second condition – stray no further than the accursed leader's line of sight. He'd be damned if he gave them the satisfaction of seeing him die by his own hard-earned abilities.

"Right. See you in ten minutes."

The Geneiryodan head had been talking on his cellular phone for the past minute, Kurapika assumed, with one of the other seven members of their gang. He hadn't paid attention when the leader gave them their orders before they separated into two groups back at the hideout, and he had no idea where they were taking him right now. He would have acted as detached and as disinterested as possible in whatever plans they had for him, just to spite them, but he did feel a bit curious and bewildered.

After his botched suicide attempt, and after the leader was finally able to persuade his subordinates that he was really serious about letting Kurapika into their group – which took quite a while since the one named Nobunaga had adamantly refused to accept the decision – the dark-haired man had tossed a set of clothing at him, and had told him to change in the back room. He'd half-expected to drop dead as soon as he'd disappeared into said room, out of sight of his captor's vision, but nothing happened. (He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed, though.) Minutes later, barely able to hide a look of disgust and confusion, he'd emerged wearing a black coat over a crisp white shirt and black trousers, complete with the customary black necktie.

Of course, the other Geneiryodan had pounced immediately on his new and improved appearance.

_"Dancho, what's with his fancy getup?"_

_"We're going back into the city. The last thing I'd want to happen is for some of the mafia recognizing us from the photos they've taken of our clones. Half of us are supposed to be dead, remember?"_

_"Yeah, well… We can just kill them if they do."_

_"I'd like this to be as clean a job as possible. Which means the rest of you would have to dress up, too."_

_"I was afraid you'd say that…"_

_"No complaints. We're moving out in fifteen minutes."_

Needless to say, Kurapika had been _very_ disturbed to see Hisoka – who'd come back just before he went into the back room to change – wearing a formal coat and tie outfit, with his gelled-up hair down. The magician had actually looked normal – classy, even – and not the psychotic killer Kurapika knew him to be. The same went for the other Geneiryodan – who all looked like they belonged in York Shin's posh casinos and hotels. He had no doubts now as to how they were able to fool Darshioni into thinking that they were mafia guards.

… At least he was out of the female receptionist uniform. But that didn't mean that he approved of his current appearance. The leader was too tall for the suit to fit him, which meant that it belonged to one of the other Geneiryodan; but that didn't change the fact that he was still wearing his enemy's clothing. And he must look like some kind of rich snob… or a _punk_, to put it bluntly. His hair was tied back, leaving his forehead bare save a few strands of his bangs, and he was wearing dark-tinted sunglasses. His own mother wouldn't have recognized him. Gon, Killua, and Leorio wouldn't, either, unless Gon detected his scent, or Senritsu was with them to identify him from his heartbeat.

Speaking of Gon and the others…

_Shit…_

Their group of six had rounded a corner, turning right into one of the busier streets, with several casinos and establishments lining the boulevard. Traffic was surprisingly heavy, given the late hour. Right in the middle of the cars on the street was the sedan Leorio had rented. Kurapika could see his friend behind the wheel… two smaller shadows in the backseat – Gon and Killua – and an even smaller figure in the passenger's seat – Senritsu.

_No, damn it… After all that trouble I went through to take them as far as possible from the Ryodan… If they charge now there's no guaranteeing that they'll be let off as easily as before…_

Already Kurapika could see Senritsu's posture stiffening, her overly sensitive hearing picking up his heartbeat from hundreds of feet away. As if in slow motion he saw her turn around, and a few seconds was all it would take for her to pinpoint his location on the sidewalk, Gon, Killua, and Leorio's lines of sight following soon after –

_No! Senritsu, don't!_

Senritsu froze, and it took _him_ a few seconds to realize that he'd spoken aloud. He took a quick peek at the Geneiryodan, but it seemed that they hadn't heard – or if they did, gave no reaction to his whisper. They continued to walk.

Kurapika looked down at the passing blocks of the concrete sidewalk, and took a deep breath before speaking again, pitching his voice as low and as soft as he could.

"Don't look. If they tried to help me, I won't be able to save them anymore. I'll be fine; tell them not to worry, and that they _should not_ come after me, no matter what happens. I'll try to escape when I can."

He didn't dare turn around to see if Senritsu had understood his instructions; his guards would know that something was amiss if he moved unnecessarily. But they reached the other end of the sidewalk without anything disastrous happening, which meant that Senritsu _did_ hear him, or, if the other three had seen him, they at least knew that it would be folly to attack right now. Kurapika started praying – hard – that it was the former, and that Senritsu would know not to tell Leorio and the others until both groups had traveled far enough in both directions for his friends to be safe from the Geneiryodan.

A few minutes later, and some more city blocks in between, Kurapika finally allowed himself to relax a bit. Gon and Leorio, as brash as he knew they were, wouldn't have sat tight and let him slip past them if they knew that he had been mere meters from their aid – even if they couldn't have done anything against the more powerful Geneiryodan.

It wasn't enough, though, all this running around, and him hoping that distance would deter his friends from coming after him, because he knew that distance alone wouldn't be enough. Gon, for one, wouldn't just give up and leave him to his fate. That boy would keep on pursuing the Geneiryodan, and eventually find a way to rescue his friend, even if it cost him his life. Kurapika had witnessed firsthand, six months ago, just how stubborn Gon could be, if he believed that one of his friends was being held against his will. Killua had more discretion, and would probably think more before engaging in impossible rescue missions, but he considered Gon his first friend, and would likely follow the younger boy to the ends of the earth if the other asked. And Leorio… while not as cunning as Killua, or as single-mindedly impulsive as Gon, was one of the most selfless, loyal, and caring individuals Kurapika had ever met, despite his stupid, loud-mouthed, money-loving exterior…

_Kinda pathetic, reminiscing like a sentimental old fool…_

_My life is literally in the hands of my enemies, who will happily kill me anytime they feel like it… I'm entitled to at least some drama and sap before I die, don't you think?_ Kurapika, morbid sarcasm back full-blast, snapped back at his inner voice, and thankfully it stayed silent and didn't answer back, once again leaving him to his thoughts.

With nothing else to do but walk – walk and follow into whatever hell the Geneiryodan led him into, Kurapika began to dream.

--- ooOOOoo ---

"Stop."

The car jerked to a halt, causing Gon to yelp in surprise as he was forced to throw his hands up to avoid crashing into the back of the front passenger's seat.

"Leorio!"

"Sorry… I wasn't paying attention…"

Which was true enough. Leorio had been deep in introspection, thoughts centered on one blue-eyed blond, hands and feet only mechanically going through the processes of steer, shift, accelerate and brake, and so he had acted purely on reflex, feet suddenly slamming on the brake, when Senritsu calmly gave that single command. Only his seatbelt had saved him from cracking his forehead on the windshield; lucky coincidence, on the other hand, responsible for their stopping just as they were traveling along a relatively car-less street.

"Senritsu, what's the big idea! We're nowhere near those abandoned buildings. Don't tell me your range can reach that far!"

"… I'm sorry. It's over."

Leorio resolutely refused to acknowledge the chill that tingled through his spine upon hearing Senritsu's defeated tone.

"What do you mean, 'it's over'! Don't joke around!"

"Senritsu, we can't stop now!" Gon pleaded. "Leorio said that we're not going to attack blindly; we promise that we won't! But we have to see if Kurapika's okay."

"Gon… Senritsu's right," Killua spoke suddenly.

"Killua?"

"It's useless. He's gone."

"What? You don't know that, how –"

"Not gone as in dead, Leorio," Senritsu interrupted. "I'm just saying that he won't be there when we reach the hideout."

"That's why I was asking how you knew that!"

"We saw him."

Killua's matter-of-fact answer was the last thing Leorio would have expected to hear, so he was shocked into silence for a few seconds, before he was able to find the appropriate word to articulate his confusion and growing fury.

"Whaaat!?"

"He was with five of the Geneiryodan… we passed them around fifteen minutes ago, Sixth Avenue, I think."

"That's… We were held up by traffic for five minutes on that street! Damn it! Why the hell didn't you tell me!"

Leorio switched the gear to first, and prepared to turn the wheel around and make a u-turn, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Leorio… we don't know where they went. And even if we were able to find them, what can we do? Tail them until they see us?" Senritsu said.

"But –"

"Calm down. Kurapika looked fine. He _sounded_ fine… physically, that is…"

"His wound's gone. I think they made him heal it," Killua added. "And he was dressed up… he was wearing a suit… They all were."

Leorio's breath hitched involuntarily when an image of Kurapika wearing a formal suit popped up in his mind, but he pushed it aside, zeroing in on the sentence that Senritsu left hanging.

"Senritsu… what did you mean by 'physically'?" He asked carefully.

The diminutive woman sighed heavily. Leorio could see that she was struggling to think of what to say.

"He's healthy, from what I can hear. A bit weak, most probably from blood loss; but no broken bones, no injuries, no physical damage. He's not being controlled, he's completely conscious, and he's walking on his own. I'm only worried about his psyche, his emotional state…"

"And…?"

"He was… I can't really describe it. His heartbeat's calm, unusually so. He wasn't afraid, almost as if he didn't care about what happened to him. He _was_ angry at the Geneiryodan – but the anger's repressed, and it's an extremely small fraction of the hatred I usually feel from him. Mostly he was resigned, a bit exasperated… His heartbeat speeded up when he saw us, then went back to its former quiet rhythm seconds after – but it was stronger, more determined…"

'Why… what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure… He said something. I was about to tell you that he was right there on the sidewalk, but he stopped me. He told me not to tell you, and that he won't be able to help you anymore if you got into trouble again."

"He's the one who needs help, not us!" Leorio all but yelled. He needed to vent his frustration, and his anger was seeping into whatever he said, even if it wasn't supposed to be directed at his companions.

"I think he was referring to Gon and me…" Killua said stiffly.

"He said that he's fine, that you don't have to worry about him, and that you shouldn't go after him, no matter what happens. He also said that he'd try to escape when he can."

"Bullshit!"

"Leorio!" Senritsu scolded, eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"He's strong; he's killed one of them before. Why hasn't he escaped yet? And he hates their guts – he won't just follow them around like a dog! They _did_ something to him; I just know it!"

"Leorio…"

"Don't you see? That self-sacrificing idiot… he's trying to lead the Geneiryodan away from us! He's not thinking of himself again! He'll get himself killed!"

His friends were looking at him as if he were a raving lunatic – which he had probably become, given his state of mind. He was fast losing control, losing grip over the tenacious hold he had established over his thoughts during the past thirty-minute drive, and they were now jumbled, scattered into disarray by the bombshell Senritsu and Killua had just dropped.

How _could_ he stay calm? Kurapika had been so near, mere feet away, and yet the blond had slipped through his fingers again. It just wasn't fair! Never mind what Killua was saying about Kurapika looking different, about the low possibility of Leorio recognizing their friend just because he had dressed up; he'd know Kurapika when he saw him!

_I won't let you go… I WON'T!_

-- -- -- -- --

_He's so mad, frustrated… if this goes on any longer he'll surely lose control!_

She didn't want to use her ability on Kurapika's doctor friend if she could help it. Leorio probably wouldn't appreciate it much if she forced him to calm down, pushed his anger back and denied him the release he had been unconsciously yearning for. It was all in his heartbeat – a few seconds of clear listening and she'd pretty much figured out the kind of person he was. Kurapika had once told her that Leorio had a volatile temper – the description was probably exaggerated, but it was partly true. Leorio wasn't like Kurapika, who buried his hatred and anger under a calm front, and vented extra emotions in his actions. The man beside her was the complete opposite, preferring to bring it all out instead of hiding his feelings. In the long run Leorio's method of release was the healthier of the two, better than Kurapika's way of living on grudges and revenge.

But at this rate he would most likely get himself killed, never mind her warnings and words of caution. There were times when it would be better to rein in emotions that could cloud judgments and decisions, and this time was one of them.

Senritsu took her flute out from its hidden holder under her cloak, and just as her sensitive ears picked out the abrupt change in Leorio's heartbeat that signaled his self-control finally giving way under pressure, started to play a melody on the wind instrument, a variation of the one she'd played for Kurapika back at the balloon crash site.

Her companions froze, Leorio caught with his hands preparing to bring the vehicle around and after Kurapika; Gon and Killua, sitting still, hearts beating with awe and bewilderment at the sudden change in scenery.

Senritsu always played with her eyes closed, believing that by doing so she would be able concentrate more fully, and incorporate her intentions and emotions more into the tunes she played. She didn't need vision to know what the others were seeing right now, because she could feel it through her music.

They were probably all sitting on flat, moss-covered boulders, facing a small, sunny clearing surrounded by trees blooming at the height of spring. A brook, hidden by the large fronds of several ferns, tinkled merrily just ahead. A light breeze brought with it the teasing, cloying scent of flowers and fresh water. Birds and butterflies completed the scenery, frolicking among the branches of the trees and the rustling blades of grass with the unawareness of beings not concerned with the problems of the world.

They would think that it was real, that they'd somehow been transported to a forest outside of York Shin City; but in reality they were still sitting in the car, listening to the haunting strains of the melody she was playing. She was a music hunter, and she prided herself on her abilities. Already she could hear Leorio's racing heart slowing down, Gon and Killua's agitated ones being lulled into a sense of calm and security. She wasn't deceiving them, far from it – their situation was dire indeed, but they needed to have clear minds, not thoughts fogged by anger and hysteria, if they were going to be of any help to Kurapika.

Seconds later they were back in the car, Senritsu having stopped playing after a few more notes. She set her flute down, and turned to look at them with the calm, confident gaze of one who knew that everything would be all right from then on.

All three were blinking bemusedly, unaccustomed to the consecutive changes in both light and sound.

"That was awesome!" Gon exclaimed in delight. "Senritsu, did you do that?"

"Yes. How do you feel?"

"Better… calmer. Kurapika told us about your ability. I guess I didn't understand until I experienced it myself."

"Yeah… I can think more clearly now," Killua remarked.

Leorio didn't say anything. He'd turned away from them, and seemed to be staring really hard at something on or outside of his window. Senritsu didn't ask what, because she knew that the man was furiously trying to blink away tears that he had suddenly noticed upon coming out of her induced vision. They were tears of frustration and helplessness, which had formed without him realizing it in his emotional state. She left him alone, because she knew that he'd probably be embarrassed if she tried to comfort him any more.

"Leorio?"

"I'm alright, Gon… Thanks, Senritsu. I needed that."

Senritsu smiled in relief. "You're welcome."

They sat in companionable silence for a few more seconds, each thinking of what to say or do that wouldn't shatter the small pocket of peace that had settled over their group.

"So… what should we do next?" asked Killua hesitantly.

"We should still try to think of a way to help Kurapika," Gon declared.

"Let's continue on to the hideout," Leorio finally suggested.

"Eh?"

"We might be able to find some clues as to where they are headed."

"Good idea… but…"

"Killua, you and Senritsu said so yourselves, that it would be pointless to just drive around and hope to come across them by chance. This is better than having no plan at all."

"I know… Senritsu? What do you think?"

Leorio… was perfectly sincere. She listened for a few more seconds, and to the others it seemed like she was deliberating, but in reality she was checking her companions' feelings, and trying to figure out what they could be thinking through their heartbeats. She could detect no ill will in Leorio's, nothing that indicated an ulterior motive in wanting to continue. He was just determined, and wanted to see what they could find in the Geneiryodan's hideout. There was still that strong worry for Kurapika, but at least he was calm now. Killua's heartbeat had a note of hesitation in it, as if he wasn't sure if it would be safe for Leorio to continue, but he was perfectly willing to help, as long as it wasn't another harebrained scheme that could get them in trouble. Gon, on the other hand, was actually a bit excited, anxious to swing into action, and had full faith in whatever his friends suggested, as long as it would help their captive friend.

_Kurapika… You're very lucky to have made such caring and devoted friends… I think I know you better than you know yourself, and you're walking on a very thin line by keeping them away from danger, away from you, and sacrificing yourself in the process… But I'll trust you, for now._

"I think it sounds like a good plan. We should still be careful, though. We only saw five of the Geneiryodan, and there could be at least two, at most seven of them left behind to guard their hideout."

"Two's bad enough, but _seven_ Hisokas is something I'd rather not see _or_ run into anytime in the near future," Killua muttered. His attempt at humor didn't go unappreciated, and was able to tease a small smile out of Gon and Senritsu. Leorio even managed a snort as he pulled away from the curb.

"We'll go with the original plan. Senritsu, we're counting on you to check if there's anyone left in the buildings, okay?"

"All right," she answered.

_I'll trust you, for now, because I don't know what else I can do to help._

She felt sorry for Leorio, because his desire to protect Kurapika will likely go wasted, and his love for the other boy, unrequited, if he wasn't able to communicate his feelings in some way. He was underestimating Kurapika's strong will, and didn't even know that as he was thinking of how to rescue the blond, the other was already hard at work keeping them safe from the Geneiryodan, by drawing attention away from them and onto himself. She had heard it all in Kurapika's heartbeat, twenty minutes ago when they passed each other on the street, and knew that his determination was something even their enemies, much less her and her abilities, couldn't stand against.

Kurapika seemed safe for now, so she could afford to wait, wait and see what would come out of these events. Something had changed in the way the wind was blowing, and if she listened hard enough, could _hear_ destiny and fate moving towards a new direction. For better or for worse, she couldn't tell just yet, but it would be something unexpected

_So, Kurapika, whatever you're planning on doing, please be careful…_

--- ooOOOoo ---

_The morning dawned on the valley, cold and foggy, the heavy mist a gift left behind by last night's torrential rainfall. Rays of light pierced through the clouds, chasing darkness and gloom away, but as it was with yesterday's fiery sunset, no one was around to appreciate the scenery, except for the forest inhabitants and the golden-haired youth with soulful blue eyes. Today, though, the animals were unusually quiet, and the latter was in no condition to start singing the sunrise's praises._

_The fires had all been put out, the blood washed away by cold rain. Puddles shimmered here and there, water gathered and pooled in rock crevices and dips in the ground. The yards and gardens, strangely, hadn't turned into mud paddies, as they were wont to do after a heavy monsoon, instead sported new mounds of freshly-dug earth, that hadn't been there before today. Stuck on top of each mound were two pieces of wood bisecting each other, tied together by rough twine._

_The village had been turned into a silent cemetery._

_A fire roared to life behind one of the larger houses, and black smoke started to billow into the sky. Birds from nearly trees took flight, disturbed by the heat and the unnatural smell of kerosene mingled with burning flesh. The boy from yesterday emerged from behind the aforementioned house, lugging a kerosene drum half his size, which he promptly tossed aside as soon as he reached the front yard. He looked haggard and exhausted, eyes empty and devoid of emotion, and his hands were scraped raw, blistered and bleeding. No one would know, but he had spent the entire night awake, digging graves for his tribe mates, making wooden crosses out of the debris around him, and dragging livestock carcasses into his former neighbor's garden, all with his small hands._

_The boy walked back to his house – what was left of it – and stopped in front of two mounds dug side by side. Under these two mounds lay his father and mother._

_"Father… The Geneiryodan did this, right? They are the ones with the spider tattoos… You told me to stay away from them, but I'm sorry, Father… I can't do that."_

_His voice was quiet and croaky at first, but earnest in its weariness, and as he spoke more, took on strength and determination, promising pain and vengeance to the people who had taken his childhood away with one fell stroke._

_"Mother… I couldn't protect her. I'm sorry… But…"_

_He reached up with both hands, and fumbled with something on his right ear. After a bit of effort, he was able to undo the clasp of one of the tribal earrings he was wearing; and for a long while he stared at the small jewel as it rested on his palm. Each person in his tribe wore a pair – each pair of earrings unique to their respective owners. The outer crystal was actually clear; it was what was placed in the hollow spaces inside the gems that gave them their blood-red color. The earrings were said to give off an unearthly, but beautiful glow when their owners reached the age of maturity._

_The way the boy gazed down at his earring, seemed like he was looking for that rumored glow, but the tiny jewel stayed dull and lifeless. He gave a small sigh of disappointment, but clenched his fist over the earring, and knelt down on one knee before his parents' graves._

_"I'll find them, and I'll bring everybody's eyes back! I swear to this by my blood, on my word as a member of the Kuruta tribe!"_

_Minutes later, vow made, and earring carefully wrapped in cloth and buried at the feet of the twin mounds, the boy left the village, bringing only the barest of essentials in a small knapsack._

_The sun rose higher over the village and the jutting crosses cast eerie shadows, attesting to the steady passage of time as they lengthened and shortened with the routine whims of sunlight. The fire the boy had left behind burned for a whole day, and by nightfall only ashes remained. For the next five years the village will stay as silently sacrosanct as the boy had left it, no looters or wild animals to disturb the sleep of the dead. The mounds will flatten slightly after months and years of being exposed to the elements, but surprisingly they will stand fast, not once revealing the lives they entombed. Grass will even grow over some of them, plant life eventually covering the rest of the buildings, turning the village into a garden of secrets._

_At the feet of the twin mounds, deep under the earth, the earring wrapped in pure white cloth glowed._

--- end of chapter six ---

notes:

1. As of March 9, 2007, I've removed all the Japanese words that I used in the original version. It now feels a bit immature for me to be using foreign terms and exclamations in an English language fic, so I went through the chapters that had them and did a bit of editing. Nothing major, just some translating. The "her" that young Kurapika referred to here is still going to be his elder sister, in case anyone new reads this.

2. If anyone's having difficulty imagining Kurapika the way I described him, he looks a bit like Shalnark in episode 55, when they disguised themselves to rescue Ubogin, but with smaller (and cooler-looking) shades (like those in the Matrix), plus a few unruly bangs. Kind of like Genjo Sanzo (in Gensomaden Saiyuki) in his prison outfit pose (shown in said series' second opening song, Still Time), but with less angles, and without the droopy eyes.

3. Sixth Avenue is a street name I just invented. It sounds common enough to be present in every city using English street names. No infringement was intended.

Reposted on March 9, 2007.


	7. A Reason To Stay part 1

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : More introspection – first from Kuroro, about how Kurapika will fit in amongst the Geneiryodan; then Kurapika, about what his place and moral standing will be now that he's one of the enemy.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing – the violence is upped a bit in this chapter, and there's the ever-present death. Squeamish people should either stay away, or try not to picture the described scenes too much.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** This chapter was a H-U-G-E pain in the ass to write. Maintaining this fic's like shoving my brain into a microwave oven and turning the dial on high for ten minutes…

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 7 – A Reason To Stay (part 1)

Surreal. Dreamlike, trancelike, the state between unconsciousness and the waking world. There was even a term used to describe art forms based on fantasy and the unreal: surrealism. Kuroro felt surreal right now – or rather, surreal, and yet fully aware of his surroundings at the same time. He could see, hear, and sense everything around him – the honking of car horns, the patter of so many feet on the pavement, bright flashing neon signs and sounds coming from the establishments they passed, boisterous laughter and the incessant chatter of the insomniacs of the city, and the movements of his five companions as they trotted purposely after him.

This was where the surreal came in. Four of those who followed him were normal enough – well, normal by Geneiryodan standards. Nobunaga to his right, Coltopi to his left, and Machi and Pakunoda behind them. The five of them formed a small pentagon as they walked.

It was the sixth member of their little party, the person in the middle of the pentagon, who was out-of-place. If someone had told Kuroro hours before, that he would have the chain assassin following his every whim like a well-trained dog come midnight, he would have told that someone to go drown himself in a toilet for even daring to waste his time with such an absurd prediction.

… Not so absurd now, was it?

It seemed like decades ago that they had all been actively hunting for the chain assassin who'd killed one of their own, and now that same assassin was part of their group, part of the Geneiryodan (a tiny voice at the back of his mind reminded him that the entire thing had been _his_ idea, and not anyone else's) – not exactly a loyal and trusted comrade, but still one of them, nonetheless.

Sometimes his own ideas scared even himself.

But, no, Kuroro wasn't indecisive; if he had been otherwise he wouldn't have survived as long and as well as he had. Practice, experience, and mere survival had honed his mind to a sharp edge; each and every member of his circle, except the newest recruit could and would swear on his ability to make major decisions under extreme pressure. He never hesitated, never wavered, and he wasn't hesitating now.

But he couldn't blame the other Geneiryodan for wondering and questioning his motives. Not aggressively, and not overtly – they knew him too well to openly challenge his decisions, and he was glad that they weren't asking now, because Kuroro himself couldn't think of a completely convincing and believable reason for being out on the streets at this ungodly hour.

If they did ask, he planned on hiding behind three excuses: first, a minor quibble between him and their intended target; second, a chance for the rest of the Ryodan to "unwind"; and third, probably the most unbelievable of them all, that they needed to gain Kurapika's trust and loyalty, by helping him find what he had been seeking all these years.

_I've gone completely and irrevocably insane…_

His phone rang, once, twice, and Kuroro answered on the third ring. It was Shalnark, reporting as he had been ordered to do so back at the hideout. There wasn't really a need to check on the other group when they would be getting back together soon enough, but he didn't exactly trust chance and circumstance to leave them alone just this once, and hope for a "clean operation" – which was what he called missions wherein they didn't run into the authorities, or have had to go on virtual killing sprees to dissuade said authorities from pursuing them.

When he punched the mobile phone on the first thing he heard on the other side of the line was the steady hum of the van they had "appropriated" off the sidewalk just for this mission. Again, Shalnark, ever the technology-savvy one, was the one to hotwire it. Phinx drove – even if Shalnark and Hisoka were the only ones legally able to drive, with perfectly genuine licenses.

"Dancho?"

"Here."

"Everything is going according to plan. You haven't told us what we're specifically supposed to do, but we're ready. Ubo would have loved the idea of raiding a mansion."

Kuroro detected the tone of wistfulness and sorrow in the other's voice. Yes, their late comrade would have relished the task of trashing a compound – the place they were headed for wasn't exactly a mansion; it was more like a fortress – just as protected, with lots of guards to kill and maim, and even more barriers and security systems to smash and break through. Kurapika didn't have the deranged single-mindedness his predecessor had, and will probably refuse to participate in anything illegal unless Kuroro ordered him to.

But… if the Kuruta believed that the other party deserved to be killed or stolen from…

"I've already discussed that with you, Shalnark. We can't bring the dead back to life."

"I know – sorry."

Shalnark was one of the most open-minded people Kuroro knew, and he had accepted the idea of recruiting Kurapika more readily than the others, but he was still someone who knew and considered Ubogin as a close friend.

"Where are you now?"

"Just past the small park on Twelfth Street."

"Good. You'll reach the mansion before us."

No sense calling the place a compound when it was just as opulent and lavish as a mansion. The word "compound" had the ring of authority and respect to it – and both words were the last traits Kuroro would ever attribute to the man who owned it.

"Additional orders?" In other words, "Any limit on what we can do?"

"Do whatever you want, but don't kill the main target."

"Save the best for last, you mean," Shalnark quipped, hearing in Kuroro's carefully enunciated words a hint of anticipation the dark-haired man rarely let others see. "How are things there?" The brunette's lightly-placed question didn't quite hide the fact that he was nervous and worried about the other group's condition. Having Nobunaga and the chain assassin in such close proximity with each other wasn't a very good idea, but Nobunaga had adamantly insisted on accompanying their leader. "To keep an eye on the chain assassin brat", he had ominously muttered when they asked him why.

What Shalnark should be worried about was the group Kuroro had placed under his charge, and not how Nobunaga was getting along with the chain assassin. So much could go wrong in an hour – the maximum time it would take for both groups to arrive at the mansion, but Kuroro had Kurapika under control, whereas Shalnark was dealing with a loose cannon in the persona of Hisoka. Surprisingly, the magician had come back after delivering their hostages, and had acted like everything was right in the world. He gave no outward indication that he knew of them knowing his betrayal, and seemed oblivious to the other members' glances of suspicion and unease. Kuroro had given them their orders through Pakunoda, which was not to confront Hisoka unless he attacked, or outwardly betrayed them first. Oh, he knew that member number four's ultimate goal was to fight him, a competition to see just who between the two of them was the better fighter. He wasn't stupid, and neither was the clown in question – Kuroro knew that that Hisoka was just acting ignorant, stalling for time to see if there was still any chance to challenge him; so he was content to oblige, let Hisoka have his way for now, so long as the other man kept his charade up.

"Everything's fine here. Just concentrate on doing your parts."

"Which is to basically raise hell without alerting the police and outside forces, and detain Zenji until you guys get there."

"Right. See you in ten minutes."

Kuroro stopped the call and placed his cellular phone back into his coat pocket. Then, using whatever instinct and senses he had just so he didn't have to turn around, tried to see – sense – what Kurapika was doing, or how he was faring. There wasn't any change. After they had left the hideout, up until now, the Kuruta had done exactly what Kuroro had hoped for – follow them quietly.

He was feeling contradictory, really. He hoped for obedience, but was suspicious when it was given readily. He couldn't be blamed, not when the other party had tried to hurt himself when Kuroro's guard was down because he thought that the young man was giving in.

Well, he had another stage set up, and it was up to Kurapika to accept his role. Their target this time wasn't money, artifacts, or auction material. They were going after Zenji, one of the Mafia overlords, the fattest, shortest one of the lot. And – surprise, surprise – Kurapika knew him. Hated the bald, snub-nosed man, actually. Even went toe-to-toe with the billionaire over the pair of Scarlet Eyes in the auction. Then scared the shit out of him when Zenji tried to threaten Kurapika into giving him the Eyes.

In approximately fifteen minutes, Kuroro will be giving Kurapika yet another reason to dislike the man, and hopefully, lessen the hatred the boy felt towards the Geneiryodan. It was a long shot, but he knew an avenging spirit when he saw one.

And Kurapika might even be persuaded to kill if he found out what Zenji had done in the past.

Kuroro nearly jumped out of his skin when the blond suddenly spoke, an order given in a frantic whisper. He resisted the reflex to turn around and confront him – his senses were trained on the Kuruta, and what he heard didn't sound subversive. He had warned someone – stopped someone from doing something. Kuroro tensed inwardly, and he knew that the others were following his example, trusting him to do the right thing. The only reason he could think of that could cause Kurapika to break his stoic silence, was if his friends were somewhere near them right now. To demand an explanation would only cause a scene, which might not happen if he let the blond handle the situation – assuming he was right about what Kurapika could be planning on doing.

Sure enough, as he extended his senses outward and around them, he found four nen sources in one of the cars on the street. Two belonged to the kids they had let go. The other two were weaker – one was feminine, the other was masculine; Senritsu, the music hunter with super-sensitive hearing, and Leorio, the man who had distracted them back at the hotel with his blustering playacting.

For the life of him Kuroro couldn't imagine the kids and Leorio sitting still if they had spotted the Kuruta. It could be that only Senritsu had discovered their presence. His suspicions were proven right when Kurapika spoke again, lower, even softer than before, that he had to strain just to catch what the boy was saying. His words were directed at the woman, and he was telling her not to alert the others, also leaving instructions not to go after him, and not to worry – again, the self-sacrificing tendency kicking into action.

Kuroro didn't know whether to feel relieved and pleased that Kurapika was starting to show signs of truly resigning to whatever fate he ended up receiving from his captors, or suspicious and wary of that last sentence. It sounded like the boy was still harboring a desire to attempt to escape – either that, or he had just lied to assuage Senritsu's fears. Well, he didn't want a mindless zombie for a follower, and Kuroro supposed he _could_ permit a healthy amount of defiance, but he had designed his conditions specifically to keep Kurapika in check and in sight. Plus, he didn't want a repeat of that fiasco back at the hideout.

Minutes later, as they left the block and street behind them, no crazy kids in sight, and no foul-mouthed, blue-suited men charging up to them, Kuroro knew that he had made the right choice in not confronting Kurapika. He didn't know what the others were thinking, and he certainly couldn't ask now without raising eyebrows, so he continued to walk. His senses told him that Kurapika had fallen back into brooding silence, and he didn't need Paku's mind-reading abilities to guess that the blond was probably thinking of his friends.

_They're alive and well… That's already more than you could ask for._

The streets they walked through progressively became less and less crowded, less noisy, the casinos and hotels giving way to quiet residential houses and apartments surrounded by fences and idyllic gardens. Even the trees and the shrubbery had borders around them. The bright fluorescent street lamps were replaced by more expensive wrought-iron posts with candles that gave off a softer and muted yellow light. Sports cars and limousines actually dominated the car population; the occasional four-door or antique beetle hid under tarpaulin wraps as precaution against rain, but even those were worth more than several million zenny. It was obvious that only the rich and powerful could afford the real estate here, and the thief within Kuroro itched to raid each and every one of the houses. Zenji's mansion, though, was located several more blocks ahead, nestled among similar sprawling estates – vast two or three-storied buildings made up of multiple wings and partitions, surrounded by manicured lawns, elegant gardens, and luxurious facilities, enclosed by ten-foot high walls and thick gates, and all probably crawling with guards and vicious attack dogs.

The simplest approach would be to waltz through the main entrance, walk up the central drive, and charge right into the house – blasting through the numerous checkpoints they would have to go through for authorization and proper access. The roundabout, commando way would be to climb one of the less-guarded sides, creep past the security and the dogs, and then slip into the house via one of the entrances with minimal traffic – sneaking and infiltrating all the while.

Kuroro had ordered the first group to employ both ways, and everything in between to eliminate all barriers with the least possible resistance and disturbance. He wanted to be able to walk right in without anyone accosting them by the time their group arrived. He didn't know exactly what methods the first group – their vanguards, for lack of a better term – would use, but he could guess, probably correctly, knowing the habits and operating styles his subordinates preferred or excelled in.

Shalnark would likely seek out and control the guards with the access codes and communications to the main house – using the guards as his puppets to get them through security without having to undergo the normal processes of verification. He'd then either kill the guards when their usefulness expired, or leave them for the others to take care of. Hisoka (if he was still cooperating), Feitan, and Phinx would act as the main assassins of the group, silencing sentries and guards they came across. Franklin's ability would be too noisy in this case, so he would have to stay behind and help Bonorenolf cover their rear. Finally, the bodies and any other evidence of their intrusion would be disposed of by Shizuku, using Deme-chan.

Such were the skills that delegated their roles in the workings of the group. Pakunoda, Shalnark, Coltopi, and Shizuku each had specialized abilities that they all agreed were the most important for the survival of the Geneiryodan. Should they lose any one of the four, their operations would be severely crippled. Machi could be considered as belonging to a middle category; she was the designated healer, but her killing skills were at par with Hisoka's. The rest of the men made up the brunt of their offensive force – they were actually the ones to be blamed for their group's notoriety as ruthless killers. And Kuroro himself, in his capacity as the leader, had the responsibility of making sure that all of the members are able to function and work together come mission time.

But among the twelve veteran members, none surpassed Kurapika in potential – the raw and undeveloped kind. Even now Kuroro had to constantly hold himself in check, lest he get carried away by the anticipation he felt whenever he thought of how to best develop the boy's abilities. The saying "the sky's the limit" aptly describes Kurapika's power – the possibilities are virtually endless! He's already a skilled fighter now with only a few months of experience behind his belt; imagine what results extensive training and careful instruction could bring!

Kuroro knew that he was being too presumptuous; no one could know for certain whether or not things would work out, but again, it was hard not to get ahead of himself. Already he knew of one skill that would assure Kurapika of a stable place within their ranks – the blond's Dowsing Chain would enable them to find things very easily.

The next few minutes would tell him if his expectations had a chance of realizing. Kurapika's convictions were strong – strong enough to get killed over, but convictions and beliefs could be swayed, made to change through persuasion or compromise. All humans have the capacity for goodness – it's the same for the opposite. But what separates the truly evil from the inherently good, are the intentions and motives behind their actions.

--- ooOOOoo ---

They arrived at a place that looked so similar to the Nostrad estate, that for a second Kurapika wondered what the Geneiryodan were thinking, bringing him back to his employer's house. Then he saw the empty guardhouse, its stations unmanned and the main cubicle alarmingly empty. The lights were on, bathing the immediate area around the small structure in an eerie and unworldly white light. The pervading darkness and silence beyond that illuminated space immediately told him that something was very wrong.

The barrier was open, and leaned precariously to one side. The man in front of him just walked through without breaking a stride, as if he had known exactly that it would be open – which was probably the case. Kurapika had decided that he would try not be surprised by whatever the Geneiryodan leader did, even if it frustrated him to no end that his captor seemed all-knowing and perfectly capable of staying a step ahead of everything. He faltered a bit before the open gate, but a threatening growl from Nobunaga prodded him on.

The smell of blood hit him a dozen steps up the gravel path. It wasn't that pungent, actually, just a light coppery smell that lingered about the air, heavier in some places and nonexistent in most. But there were no bodies, none of the pools of red that he'd immediately expected to see upon scenting blood. The whole place was just devoid of any signs of life. Kurapika was reminded of the first time the Geneiryodan had attacked, killing more than a hundred guests but somehow getting rid of all evidences of their carnage – all but Veize's bloody bracelet – and he suddenly realized that he didn't have to wonder anymore what the other group was up to.

The scent of blood… brought back too many painful memories, stirred the already agitated pool of thoughts that hovered just below his active consciousness. He'd managed to hold them back on the way here from the hideout. He'd already used his Eyes for far too long and he had to force himself to calm down and revert back to his normal state; but now his vision was taking on a dangerously red tint. He redoubled his efforts to keep the anger at bay; to lose control now would only lead to death.

Halfway between the gates – past the now-empty van the other group had used (which was parked at the side of the road) – and the large, foreboding mansion the leader's cellular phone rang. He answered it, listened for a few seconds, muttered a few words in reply, and hung up immediately after. Kurapika didn't catch what he had said, but their pace quickened after that short conversation.

Just as they reached the large mahogany double doors of the main entrance to the house, someone screamed, the shrill cry of terror the first native noise to disturb the silence of the mansion since they arrived. It cut off abruptly, and Kurapika fidgeted uneasily, skittish at the feeling of death all around him, and nonplussed that his guards didn't even bat an eyelash when they heard that scream.

… Who was he kidding! These were the Geneiryodan, the notorious Phantom Brigade. They were not only used to seeing death, they practically embodied it. It would be pointless to feel righteously indignant, preachy, or disgusted at their way of life, because plain doing so wouldn't affect them, nor would they repent even if faced with death themselves.

But _he_ was different… They may have forcibly inducted him into their ranks, but he was no killer – at least, not the serial, merciless kind. And God help him if they suddenly decided to make him undergo some kind of passage of fire, like committing murder, because he didn't know if he would have the stomach to obey before the Judgment Chain decided that he was disobeying.

"Kurapika."

He blinked in surprise when a voice intruded on his thoughts, and it took him a few more seconds to realize that the Geneiryodan head was addressing him directly.

"W-what?"

"You worked for the Nostrads. Are you familiar with the layout of their house?"

"… A bit."

"Their house and this one have the same basic architectural structures. In fact, all of the compounds in this area have identical blueprints. You should be able to find your way around here pretty easily."

_And so…?__ Start ordering me around, no need to beat around the bush…_

"It seems that our… target… has hidden himself somewhere in this house. The others are trying to locate him, but Shalnark thinks that he may have escaped to some kind of secret room built in case of attacks. Can you use your Dowsing Chain to find him?"

_'Target'?_

"Who is it?"

"You've met him. He's one of Nostrad's business rivals. Pudgy man by the name of Zenji."

Kurapika felt an irrational surge of annoyance and disgust at the mention of the target's name. He also noted the alarming turn his thoughts had suddenly taken. Whereas before he had been agonizing over what to do if the Geneiryodan asked for his participation in their nefarious schemes, wondering if he should do anything to stop them from harming any innocents, now he found himself thinking that it would be better if he didn't stand in their way. Help them, even – it's not like anyone would care if the greedy son of a bitch bit the dust. He was torn between the two choices: stick to his moral principles, or embrace this malicious side of his psyche. He felt very much like the imagery parents often gave their children to illustrate good and evil – a tiny angel on one shoulder, encouraging him to do what was right, and an equally super-deformed devil on the other, goading him to give into temptation.

He settled for a compromise.

"I've met him, but I don't know him personally. I would need an item of his and a blueprint of the house if I have to pinpoint his exact location."

Which was true – Kurapika didn't know Zenji well enough to be able to pick up on his presence accurately. It had been the same when he had tried to find Neon Nostrad; without a personal item of the person he was supposed to look for, and a graphical representation of the search area, the best he could do was to make his chain point in the general direction of the person's location.

At Kurapika's answer the leader (Kuroro Lucifer, if memory served him right, and if Hisoka didn't lie when he had given him information on the Geneiryodan) didn't seem disappointed, as if he'd known as much the extent of his abilities, but Nobunaga the samurai was not impressed.

"Like that's going to help us. D'you think they just leave important stuff like blueprints lying around? You're even dumber than I thought!"

The super-deformed devil won.

"I just have to find him, right?" Kurapika snapped. "It makes no difference, then, what technique I'll use, as long as I'm able to locate him?"

The leader nodded. Nobunaga shot him a look of utter loathing, which Kurapika countered with a glare just as poisonous, before he stepped through the doors of the mansion. He shuddered inwardly; enclosed as it was, the feeling of death there was worse than out in the open. He shook it off, silently pleaded with his hyperactive sixth sense to cease its yammering, then redirected his energies towards concentrating. He held his hand out in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist dislodged the Dowsing Chain from the length of chain links wrapped around his forearm.

_Okay… Zenji… body the shape of a bowling ball. Beady, bloodshot black eyes. No neck, a double chin, the paunchy type… Bald; nose probably still broken…_

Kurapika was able to recall the man's appearance pretty quickly, considering that he'd rather not see the billionaire again if he could help it. He could feel his chain start to move, then swing in progressively wider arcs as his mental image stabilized. Finally, as he brought the flow of his nen to a head, willing it to "dowse" through the house and catch on to the presence of his target, his chain abruptly changed the direction of its swing, from right to left, to to and fro. To an onlooker it would seem that he just moved his hand slightly, or jerked the chain to swing towards a new direction, but Kurapika knew that he had just been told where Zenji was hiding. It wasn't an exact direction, but it was a start.

According to his Dowsing Chain, Zenji was located somewhere to the northwest. Kurapika started walking, chain still hanging freely from his wrist. It should start to vibrate if he got to less than ten meters from Zenji's position. He was aware of the Geneiryodan following him, watching his every move, just as he was mindful of the fact that his back was exposed to them. Not that he could do anything about it if he wanted to, though, so he didn't give them much thought. They walked up the grand staircase of the main room, through numerous hallways and corridors and past countless doors.

Kuroro was correct in saying that this mansion and the Nostrads' house were the same in layout. Kurapika recognized a few of the rooms they passed, and it was in those whose doors and lights were open that he first saw evidence that the house wasn't as empty and unoccupied as it seemed. The only problem was, reality was fast catching up with said appearance – all of the rooms' previous occupants had been murdered in their sleep. Kurapika now had to assume that the other team just hadn't finished disposing of _these_ bodies, or that they had no intention of covering up. Maybe they didn't want to attract unwanted attention, so they cleaned up on the outside, rather than risk someone finding the bodies of the guards at the first checkpoint.

When they reached the library the leader told him to stop and wait. He made a call, and a few minutes later three from the other group joined them. They looked at him curiously – but not hostilely, Kurapika noted warily.

"What was that scream we heard awhile ago?" Kuroro asked.

"Sorry," the man without the eyebrows named Phinx mumbled. "It's the guy's fault for walking in on me while I was taking a piss."

"That's why I keep on telling you that you shouldn't relieve yourself with a dead body in the room," Shalnark said exasperatedly.

"Or at least lock the door when you're taking a break," the third member (the large one – the one who asked Kurapika about his reaction at the hideout) added.

"Alright, stop chewing me out… 'S not like the mission was compromised or anything…" Phinx grumbled.

Kurapika couldn't help but stare. This was the Geneiryodan… well, at least a fourth of the Geneiryodan, acting like normal people, bickering about the proper way of urinating, right in front of him. The whole setup was unsettling.

"Where are the others?"

"Still sweeping the place. Feitan said he wasn't interested unless _he_ gets to do the torturing. Hisoka didn't answer. Shizuku and Bonorenolf are cleaning up; they'll follow when they're done," Shalnark answered promptly.

"Hisoka and Feitan? Well, it's their loss," the leader mused. "Kurapika, you may continue."

He had to repeat the dowsing technique to regain his bearings, and he was now more jumpy and self-conscious than before because of the added audience and the bizarreness of the situation.

They headed southwest this time, past a couple of hallways lined with garish tapestries, down a short flight of stairs, through more corridors with expensive paintings and dully gleaming suits of armor, and finally, at the end of one particularly dark hallway, through a plain door into what looked like a rarely-used office room.

The Dowsing Chain started vibrating as soon as Kurapika stepped into the room, almost humming with a life of its own when he moved near the bookshelf behind the lone office desk. Facing the bookshelf, when he dowsed again, the chain swung sharply to his right, pointing to the wall. He stared at the unadorned cement wall dumbly for a few seconds, thinking last-minute questions of why and how he had come to be on the side of the enemy, and Kuroro saved him from having to declare his findings by taking charge.

"Franklin, take the wall down. But adjust the strength of your bullets so that they won't pass through. I don't want you hitting Zenji and accidentally killing him. These kinds of rooms usually have double-layered walls around them – at least two inches of concrete and three of steel."

"Easy enough," Franklin replied, nudging the office desk aside and securing his position several meters from the wall. The other Geneiryodan members stepped back, almost to the opposite side of the room. Kurapika followed suit when the leader gestured for him to move aside.

Hisoka had told him that Franklin had the ability to shoot nen bullets from his hands. Just as Kurapika was wondering exactly how and from where the bullets would be fired, the tops of the man's fingers came off, and the room erupted in a deafening roar. He threw his hands up to shield his eyes from the cloud of dust and debris that instantly filled the room and billowed out through the open door into the corridor beyond, and through his fingers he could see the bright muzzle flashes of powerful firearms coming from Franklin's hands.

Franklin was actually firing _through_ his fingers! A quick check with _gyou_ confirmed Hisoka's information that the bullets were made of nen. Kurapika could see them clearly, each projectile being launched at high speed from Franklin's fingers and impacting the wall with the explosive power of small mortar shells. The wall was reduced to a pile of rock and smoldering metal within a few seconds.

Their human machine gun stopped only when he'd opened a hole big enough for all nine of them to pass through without jostling against each other. True enough, he'd regulated his nen – Kurapika could see, through the smoke and dust, the blurry outlines of people in the other room. They were shouting at each other, pointing fingers, trying to establish some sort of order…

The smoke cleared a bit, and Kurapika counted about a dozen men, also dressed in coat and tie – real mafia guards tasked to protect Zenji, no doubt. Zenji himself was cowering in the far side of the hidden room, yelling orders and threats to "haul their asses over to the mafia lords" if they weren't able to protect him, and other oaths of the similar kind.

His guards responded admirably – but futilely, considering that the intruders were on an entirely different level of power. All twelve men started shooting their automatics, using up to hundreds of shells in only a few seconds, but not one bullet was able to connect. Their targets were all nen users, some able to use _ten_ to strengthen the physical flesh of their bodies. Those who didn't have the strengthening aspect of nen needed only to stay behind the ones who had. The bullets just pinged off, as if the Geneiryodan had suddenly donned reflective suits of armor. Kurapika himself had no difficulty focusing his nen to protect his body, but doing so required him to use his Eyes for a short while.

It was over before the guards themselves realized their mistake in firing at the Ryodan. One minute they were squeezing round after round of ammo off, shooting for all they were worth; the next they had been cut into pieces, their spines snapped, or heads crushed into pulp. In the span of time it took a person to blink Nobunaga and Phinx had leapt from their positions, and killed six gun-toting mafia guards each. Only Zenji was left to stare dumbly as his bodyguards all dropped dead simultaneously.

Kurapika felt yet another stab of uncertainty when the billionaire started to babble – denials, extortions and pleas, a nearly incoherent stream of words. He tried not to look at the bodies of the guards surrounding them – blood was already pooling around the ones who had fallen to Nobunaga's sword. This was not him… he wasn't one to stand aside and watch dispassionately while people were being killed right in front of him. The anger was still there – his anger at being caught, anger at his captors – but it wasn't reacting, just simmering and burning slowly beyond his reach. He felt curiously detached, a casual observer forced to watch against his will.

A particularly loud yelp from Zenji broke through his musings. The bald man had been trying to scramble away from them, but he had suddenly stopped flailing around, body frozen in mid-step. Machi had restrained him with her nen strings, but she wasn't pulling hard enough to control or maim, just holding him in place.

"W-what's this! I can't move! What are you doing?"

"Just a precaution, Zenji. You see, we don't want you to hurt yourself," Kuroro said pleasantly, stepping forward into the man's line of vision.

"Y-you… You're Lucifer! Kuroro Lucifer! It can't be – you're dead! I saw your body!"

"Well, I've come back to haunt you, then. Actually, _we've_ come back to haunt you."

If the notion of the Geneiryodan head being flippant wasn't so strange and new to Kurapika he would have laughed out loud when Zenji's eyes bulged even bigger than it already had upon seeing the other seven members. He now looked like a very fat frog.

"G-Geneiryodan! No! Leave me alone!"

"We can't do that, I'm afraid. Paku?"

Were they going to kill Zenji now? But Pakunoda didn't specialize in offense, and from what Kurapika knew, she usually stayed behind and accompanied Kuroro while the other members went on sorties or raids. Unless they were planning on obtaining Zenji's memory… Whatever assumptions Kurapika might have had were all thrown out of the window when he heard the question Pakunoda had chosen to ask.

"What do you know about the Kuruta tribe?"

_Kuruta__ What –_

"N-nothing! I don't know what you're talking about! I have nothing to do with the Kuruta!"

Parallel with the feelings of surprise and confusion that arose when Pakunoda mentioned his tribe was the niggling suspicion that Zenji was lying through his teeth. Kurapika could practically see the air of deceit around him, and he was sweating profusely, eyes darting frantically around the Geneiryodan, but never looking at any of them face-to-face. Rich philanthropists like Zenji and Nostrad should be used to lying, so it must be the terror that was making the former forget to put his masks in place. Not that it would be of any use even if he had, though. Pakunoda's abilities could not be blocked, not by a second-grade liar like Zenji.

But why were they asking about his tribe? They already had his memories; to ask for information from someone any self-respecting Kuruta would rather commit suicide than be associated with was a complete waste of time. His bewilderment must have been evident, because Kuroro approached him and said quietly, "You'll know soon enough."

And what's with the familiarity and coolness the Geneiryodan were displaying towards Zenji? It's as if they had known each other in the past – or more precisely, worked _together_ in the past, and somewhere down the line, something had gone wrong. The predatory glances and half-veiled sneers the members were giving the immobilized target told him so.

Pakunoda had finished, and ignoring Zenji's demands to let him go, walked back towards them. She had taken a six-chambered pistol out, and was fashioning a bullet right out of the air. Here Kurapika started to wonder what they were for; he knew that Pakunoda had the ability to read memories, but he didn't know that she could transfer them to other people.

"Brace yourself," Kuroro said in his ear.

"What?" Kurapika asked, staring up at the dark-haired leader of the Geneiryodan, who was wearing another of his closed expressions. A click, the cocking of a gun, brought his attention back to the front. Pakunoda was pointing the gun right at his forehead a mere foot away.

He had time to blink and register surprise before she fired, and the world exploded in a spiral of colors and pain.

--- end of chapter seven ---

notes:

1. I've seen the first six episodes of the second OVA, and aside from the fact that Kura looks like an absolute angel there, the animators made his eyes green. Why can't they make up their damned minds!

2. Acknowledgements – a general thank-you to all reviewers. You guys know who you are. Frankly, your reviews, and my stupid sense of self-obligation and responsibility are the only things keeping this fic alive. So, to my reviewers, to those who've been supporting me and helping me with their suggestions and encouragements, and to those who know enough to give constructive criticism – thank you very much!

Last edited on February 10, 2005


	8. A Reason To Stay part 2

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Zenji's role in the Kuruta massacre of five years ago is revealed. Kurapika makes the decision to stay with the Geneiryodan.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing – the violence is upped a bit in this chapter.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Had school problems. Need I explain any more? By the way, before you guys start wondering about my writing style, I'm trying to revert back to the third person view. It might be a bit confusing switching from Kuroro to Kurapika and back again at first.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 8 – A Reason To Stay (part 2)

The color red is both beautiful and unsettling to look at. The red of roses signifies true love, its rich, velvety hue fit to be likened to the royal dark maroon of kings' fur-lined capes. The red of thick carpets can mean either wealth or honor, hence the idiom, "being given the red carpet treatment" – something only accorded to persons of high political position and great financial and social status. The fiery red of sunsets can be breathtaking or eerie, depending on the weather conditions at any given time; while the shiny red of ripe apples, enticing to a hungry person.

On the other hand, the blinding intensity of a flashing neon-red sign can be irritating, a literal eyesore especially when positioned alongside similarly made signs of other colors. The flickering red of fire can be either warm or distressing, depending on the kind of fuel it has decided to consume. The glaring red of a failing mark on a report card is downright depressing, and can even push students to commit suicide, if their lives hinged on their studies; while the dark red of flowing blood – horrifying and morbid to all but the most callous or stout-hearted of souls.

It's an entirely different matter, Kurapika thought distantly, when virtually everything you see _is_ red, as if a red film had been pulled over both eyes. Black or white, yellow or green or blue, everything in his vision tinted with the red hue of blood whenever he used his Scarlet Eyes. The first time it had happened, at the young age of eight, was when he'd stumbled on the local village bullies picking on his cousin. Her distressed cries had drawn him to her, stirred the power lying dormant within him enough to activate the Eyes, and the bullies had to flee because they themselves weren't angry, and were still too young to have learned how to control their heritage at will.

It wasn't that rare for a child to trigger his or her eyes well before adolescence, but the unusual power and intensity Kurapika had displayed had alerted the elders to his potential. For some reason, though, his training hadn't differed from the standard physical training and basic fighting lessons all Kuruta youngsters were required to take as soon as they were able to walk on their own. Possibly the only thing that had set him apart from his peers was the vigorous _kan_ training his father had given him – and the unusually strict upbringing his parents had insisted on, which had resulted in his uptight attitude and his strong moral beliefs.

Kurapika was supposed to receive formal training in the proper usage of his Eyes when he turned fifteen, but because of the massacre of his clan he hadn't been able to. In the past five years of traveling and training alone he'd had to make do with trial and error and experimentation. He had no lack of practice, though, for spiders were always plentiful wherever he went. He'd built his endurance up to the point that he could already stay in the Scarlet Eyes state for several hours before collapsing in exhaustion. Kurapika supposed that he should be used to seeing red by now, especially with the high frequency and long durations he'd been using them ever since he'd learned nen. There were some instances, however, that he'd blink or close his eyes, and when he next opened them, would start in momentary panic that he'd somehow been transported through time and space back to that horrible day nearly five years ago.

No, he would never get used to the color of blood in his eyes, just as he'd never expected to be able to use the Eyes to their full potential. What Kurapika didn't know was that right now he was fast approaching the point of no return. He had never been this angry before, not when he had first seen the mutilated bodies of his family and friends, not even when he'd woken up to face the Geneiryodan hours ago. A single bullet, with the memories it held, now threatened to blast through whatever self-restraint he had left and leave him truly, completely, mindlessly angry.

Kuroro had seen the surprise flicker through Kurapika's face moments before Pakunoda shot her nen bullet at him. He had taken a minor gamble by not telling the blond about her technique, but at least he had warned Kurapika to brace himself. It should take the Kuruta mere seconds to scroll through Zenji's memories – but only those that directly concerned him. Kuroro had told Paku beforehand to hold certain memories back – memories that Kurapika would be better off not knowing until he'd been integrated into the Ryodan more fully. Plus, Kuroro knew what had happened to the Kuruta clan – probably even more than what Kurapika himself knew. He could give the boy a reason to stay willingly by feeding him the information he had little by little. Kurapika might resent him for withholding what he knew, but he won't have a choice, since Kuroro will be his only lead concerning information on the massacre of the Kuruta.

What Kuroro couldn't anticipate exactly was Kurapika's reaction to the involvement of the Geneiryodan in the larger scheme hiding behind the visible picture. Even more anger? More hatred? Or would the boy stay true to his benign appearance, and start to forgive them for what they had done?

As it turned out, Kuroro needn't have worried so much. Kurapika was definitely angry right now, but all the anger was being directed at one and only one person. The images he'd seen had driven everything else out of his mind. Gon and the others, his vow of vengeance on the Geneiryodan, what he'd fought for in the last five years – nothing mattered except the all-consuming fury he was feeling for the pasty-colored toad cowering at the far end of the room.

It was a wonder that Zenji hadn't been ripped to pieces yet. Or was the Kuruta too mad to speak, let alone move? The other occupants of the room couldn't see the blond's eyes that clearly because of the sunglasses covering them, but from his position beside Kurapika Kuroro could see the now-red orbs flashing wildly. The earring that dangled from his left ear was also pulsating like a tiny red beacon. And to complete the picture Kurapika was trembling in rage, and his hands were balled into fists so tight that the knuckles had turned white. No doubt there would be half-moon impressions left behind by his nails.

By now Kurapika should have figured out from the Memory Bomb that the Geneiryodan weren't the only ones to blame for the massacre of his clan. They were essentially only the hired hands – a larger, more obscure organization had been the real mastermind. No, not the Godfathers, this group operated on a multinational level, and was more massive, more powerful than the one the Ten Dead Geezers had headed. The Ryodan had very few information on the operations of that organization, except that its leaders were composed of very wealthy and influential people, and that the deals and businesses they engaged in were of black market material. They were also very well protected – Shalnark's hacking skills could only penetrate up to the lowest security levels. What Kuroro did know for certain was that Zenji was one of its less important members, or at least, ranked in the lower-middle of the organizational hierarchy. The idiot had revealed his identity by personally approaching Kuroro on the day before they were supposed to attack the Kuruta. Zenji had a special request in addition to the retrieval of the Eyes, for an added fee – that the Geneiryodan bring back a Kuruta child alive and unspoiled. Actually, he wasn't the only one who'd asked for a live souvenir, but he was the only one stupidly arrogant enough to reveal himself before them unmasked. Business was business; the Geneiryodan had accepted and done everything they needed to do – satisfactorily, if they would care to boast – but Kuroro's unspoken assumptions about the fate of the captives would forever remain one of the things he was least proud of bringing about.

For a moment it seemed that Kurapika was too shocked to actually react – only the anger rolling off him in waves and his trembling indicated that he was still conscious and breathing. Then he started to walk towards Zenji, slowly, deliberately; every ounce of his self-control mustered into stopping himself from literally lunging at the man. Kuroro quietly gave Machi an order, and Zenji stumbled in place, no longer held back by her invisible strings.

"I can move! I'm… No… S-stay away! Don't come near me!"

Kurapika was around a dozen steps away when Zenji took notice of his approach. The boy paid no heed to his stuttering warnings, and nor did he slow down or hesitate when Zenji turned and snatched a nearby semi-automatic from the floor. The mafioso had probably, in his fright and panic, forgotten that guns were ineffective against them, or he was just looking for something that would give him a sense of security. It was at that point that Kurapika's enraged nen decided that more than a little bit of intimidation was needed to show just how impotent Zenji could be against an angry Kuruta.

Zenji fired an experimental shot, which Kurapika, for some reason, didn't block or evade, so it went through and nicked the blond on the left cheek.

"Hah! You're bleeding! You're not invincible after all! Take this!" And he squeezed the trigger on continuous fire, meaning to expend the whole clip all in one go.

Kurapika didn't use _ten_ this time around. The Dowsing Chain, now proving that it could also double as a defense mechanism, was moving of its own accord, flying too fast for normal eyes to catch, intercepting the bullets right out of the air. Kurapika himself had stopped walking, only waited behind his cocoon of chain links as they performed their intricate dance of steel on steel. Shalnark, when later asked by Shizuku to describe how Kurapika had deflected the bullets, mentioned that he'd resembled a giant atom, with Kurapika himself as the nucleus and the Dowsing Chain following the path of the revolving electrons.

The deafening thunder reverberating around the enclosed room stopped sooner than Zenji would have wanted, and he was left pulling on an empty trigger. The chains encircling Kurapika stilled, dropped down to the floor with a noisy clatter, and then disappeared when he resumed walking, leaving behind dozens of bullets littering the floor. He acted as if he hadn't been showered with them just seconds ago.

Zenji was still frantically aiming and pulling the trigger of the now-useless gun when Kurapika reached him. He finally realized that its chamber was empty, and tried to use it to strike at the figure looming over him, but Kurapika caught it effortlessly with one hand, ripped it away and tossed it aside, and simultaneously slammed his left fist into Zenji's bulbous nose. Zenji, thrown backwards by the force of the blow, crashed into the wall behind him and collapsed in a blubbering heap on the floor.

Phinx whistled at the ferocity of the attack. "The kid can pack a punch after all. What the hell did you show him, Paku?"

"There was a girl," she began uncertainly, "Early teens, I think… Remember that Zenji was one of those who ordered for an 'extra package'? He… used her… as his sex toy, for a month, then gouged her eyes out while she was still alive, and strangled her to death with his bare hands."

"Maybe it was someone he knew?" Machi suggested.

Kurapika, barely able to articulate his fury, answered their questions with one clipped sentence.

"My cousin… was only ten… bastard!"

Not that he had heard the Ryodan talking behind his back. He was already too far gone to see anything other than the image of the man in front of him raping his cousin, over and over again, or hear any other sounds besides her cries of pain and his leering laughter. He wanted to kill the fat pervert. Scratch _his_ eyes out and see how he liked it. Or watch him beg for mercy while he crushed his throat. Drive the point home, that Zenji had made the biggest, and last mistake of his life by crossing the Kuruta, because there was still one left alive…

But he was wearing glasses. Tinted glasses. Zenji probably wouldn't recognize him unless he saw the Eyes, so he would have to take the shades off.

_Drive the point home…_

Unfortunately for Zenji, too many stimuli were happening simultaneously for him to realize that as soon as he saw the crimson orbs, any reaction other than instant repentance would be unacceptable. For one thing, the cut on Kurapika's cheek was healing on its own – a phenomenon rare and frightening enough even when not in stressful situations, especially for those who didn't know what nen users were capable of. And as low-level a life form the billionaire resembled, like the littlest inhabitants of the forest he could sense great danger when it was staring at him face-to-face. Self-preservation instincts, flight-or-flight responses were probably kicking in, compounded by the panic and hysteria the Scarlet Eyes were most probably inducing, and as soon Kurapika took his glasses off, Zenji lost it.

"You're… Now I remember! Crimson eyes! Nostrad's bodyguard! All the while – right under his nose – does his brat know? And – I said don't come nearer! I'll report you – I know what you look like! You're one of _them_! I can't believe – right under our noses – you're a Geneiryodan!"

Wrong thing to say.

Something snapped – the accusation the triggering catalyst that broke away the restraints holding back a force that Kurapika had been trying to subdue, unconsciously, the last few hours. He himself knew nothing about it, even if he had sensed it lurking under the power of the Scarlet Eyes. Without control, without experience, it was nothing more than a primal, animalistic power.

"You're wrong," Kurapika whispered with deadly calm. "I'm not one of them. Don't _ever_ make the mistake of calling me a Spider again."

And without so much as a by-your-leave, Kurapika proceeded to pound the living daylights out of the hapless Zenji.

"Was this what you were hoping for, Dancho?" Franklin asked.

"Well…"

It seemed that the boy possessed a sadistic streak… Not as elegant as Feitan's, but still effective. Kurapika was taking his time inflicting the maximum amount of pain with the least amount of damage. All his blows, as devastating as they may look like, were being directed with precise accuracy at non-vital parts of his victim's body. And Zenji, incredibly, was still conscious, howling and whimpering with every punch and kick.

"Not that I'm teaching him how to kill, but I don't think it'll be that much of a loss to humanity if Zenji were to, say, die of mysterious circumstances…"

Franklin was about to say something in reply, when a loud _crack_, and a particularly high-pitched scream echoed throughout the room. The two of them turned back just in time to see Kurapika straightening, clenched fist held in front of him, and Zenji, the poor soul, rolling around with both hands on his groin. All the male Geneiryodan members winced in sympathy.

_Guess I shouldn't dictate how he should dole out his punishments… There _are_ worse things than death, after all…_ Kuroro thought.

"Hey, is that painful?" Shizuku – who had arrived seconds before Kurapika turned Zenji into a punching bag – asked.

"Shizuku… Didn't you hear that crack?" Shalnark asked incredulously. "And that scream… it has got to be the highest soprano I've ever heard!"

_Soprano, nothing – a few more octaves higher and dogs would be howling at the moon._

Kurapika was gearing up for a final blow; they could see it in the way he tensed his arm, or how he clenched his fist, that he had finally decided to end Zenji's miserable existence, but at the last instance, his aim veered to the right, shooting past Zenji's ear and plunging into the wall behind – which crumbled like plaster under a battering ram.

If he hadn't changed his target, he would have crushed bone, squished brain, and made a bloody mess all over the already bloody matting of the fancy secret room.

The fright was finally too much for Zenji – he squeaked, wet himself, then fainted.

Barring the Geneiryodan members present in the room, there was no one else still conscious that Kurapika would have wanted to injure, maim, and generally inflict grievous bodily harm on, so the blond did the next logical thing on Kuroro's "what the Kuruta might do next" list, which was to turn around and rejoin them. The boy looked relatively none the worse for wear, considering that he had just willingly beaten the crap out of a harmless and defenseless person – something that must have went violently against his code of ethics. His clothes were a bit ruffled from his physical exertions, and a few spots of blood dotted his hands and arms, but he didn't seem tired, just strangely subdued and quiet. What gave him away were his eyes, when he eventually had to look up and acknowledge them.

The Eyes were as red as ever, and they could see that he was still mad as hell – but something was different. Kurapika's pupils had narrowed into slits a shade darker than the almost-neon flecks scattered around the irises. They nearly glowed with iridescence, even if the room was far from being dark, and now looked more feline than human. The difference was emphasized even more when, as they watched, the slits dilated back into their normal shape and size

Another trait of the Kuruta race, maybe? Whatever it was, it wasn't something to be reckoned with lightly. Kurapika's aura had easily quadrupled – still not up to par with the levels of the more powerful offensive half of the Geneiryodan, but impressive in its own right.

And those cat-like eyes… Kuroro can't shake off the prickly feeling that he'd seen them somewhere before. He couldn't think of a time, or a place, but they were familiar – like he'd encountered them in passing, but the impression had stuck somehow.

It seemed that the blond himself didn't know about the changes in his persona – right after his pupils widened back he blinked a couple of times, then looked bemused for a few moments before shuttering up again. Right now he was ignoring them, probably favoring brooding and dissecting the memories he'd gotten from Pakunoda, rather than waste time and energy glaring at them.

Kuroro knew that the others were reserving their judgment – they trusted him enough to consider his recommendation, at the very least. But some things were hard to forgive or forget; and apparently Kurapika's stint at intimidation and torture didn't make that much of an impression on Nobunaga.

"That was it? You're not going to kill him, after what you saw? You're not only dumb, you're pathetic and cowardly," the samurai sneered. "You being able to defeat Ubo must have been a fluke – and nothing you do or say will make me accept you into the Ryodan!"

Kurapika's scathing rebuttal to that declaration was frigid, and delivered without preamble or hesitation. "He _will_ die, but on my own terms, in my own time. And in case you've forgotten, none of this was my idea. If you want someone to blame, blame your brilliant leader and his convoluted schemes."

"_Teme_ –"

"I need to make a call."

Simple, direct, and demanding. If it were any other situation the more protective veteran members of the Ryodan would have throttled Kurapika for his impudence. Well, Franklin was holding Nobunaga back again, and the samurai was now swearing fit to kill; while the others simply looked amused, adapting quickly to the notion of the chain assassin throwing taunts at the temperamental Nobunaga. Kuroro himself didn't know if he should be flattered or insulted, but he supposed he deserved that small measure of sarcasm for orchestrating their current situation.

A call? What was the Kuruta planning on doing? Given his "probationary" status, he wasn't stupid enough to ask outright for a chance to contact and divulge information to his allies. And who else could he call, other than those four in the car back on Sixth Avenue? Besides, Kuroro knew that Kurapika was the type to prefer to sacrifice life and limb rather than voluntarily put his friends in danger. He was probably testing them, trying to see how far he could go, how long the line of his freedom stretched; but the blond wasn't thinking of drawing those four in any further – that much he was certain. He could read those disconcerting red eyes like an open book, and right now those eyes were telling him, "I won't try anything. I just need to talk to my friends."

"All right. Shalnark, give him his phone." Kuroro ignored the roars of outrage that Nobunaga was letting loose at his acquiescence, but he did hold a hand up to silence whatever protests any of his subordinates could come up with. He wondered briefly how and why he had come to read Kurapika so easily in such a short time, that he was already able to predict and react to the boy's actions accurately. It could partly be because of the memories they've obtained, but Pakunoda had read only from the time the blond had first heard of the Geneiryodan, when his clan was massacred. Curiously, there was nothing from before that. When Kuroro had asked, Paku said that she had seen no need to delve further, since they were only concerned with Kurapika's nen, how he obtained it and how it worked, and his relation with the Geneiryodan. Plus, conducting life-long memory readings tired her out faster.

After Shalnark had returned his cellular phone to him – after some hesitance, despite Kuroro's direct order – Kurapika walked to a relatively uncluttered corner of the room, stepping over and around the corpses blocking the way. His action was probably useless, and the Geneiryodan could still hear everything he would say, but he wanted at least a sense of privacy if it couldn't be given to him.

Kurapika had to think for a moment to choose which number to dial, but he punched in Leorio's in the end. His call was going to be brief; if he wanted someone calm and reasonable enough to listen without butting in he would have chosen to call Senritsu, but he needed to talk directly to one of the other three. Gon and Killua, impulsive and reckless as their ages allowed, might try to talk him out of what he had decided on doing. But he knew Leorio to be surprisingly levelheaded under extreme pressure, despite the volatile temper.

What he didn't know was that his friends had already reached the abandoned hideout at that time, had stumbled upon the bloody left sleeve he had torn off the receptionist uniform, and that Leorio had fallen in love with him.

"KURAPIKA?"

The yell that answered him was so deafening that Kurapika actually winced away from the receiver at the abuse that assaulted his eardrums.

"L-leorio!"

"Where the fuck are you! Are you alright!"

"Leorio –"

"What the hell were you thinking, telling Senritsu crap like, 'Don't worry about me'? The hell I will!"

"Leorio, I –"

"Tell us where you are right now! I don't care for shit like the Geneiryodan, so tell us where you are and we'll go help you kick their asses! We can beat them together, I know we can!"

"Leorio, please –"

But it was no use; Leorio continued to talk over his voice like a man possessed. He'd underestimated the man's temperament again. He should have called Senritsu, after all. But just as Kurapika was contemplating if he should hang up and call one of the others, Leorio's voice abruptly lessened in volume and took on an indignant and disbelieving tone.

"What the – Killua! Give that back!"

"Sorry, Kurapika. Leorio's not thinking clearly today."

"Like hell, you brat! Give that back here!"

"Leorio, calm down!"

"Gon, let me go!"

"No way!"

From what he could hear, Killua had just snatched the phone from Leorio, and Gon and Senritsu were trying to hold him back from charging the white-haired boy and regaining possession of the phone.

Killua sighed in exasperation. "You can probably hear what's going on, Kurapika. He's been like this for hours now. He's really worried about you."

Something in Killua's tone of voice implied that what Leorio felt went deeper than any old worry for his safety, but it was undecipherable at the moment.

"Anyway… Kurapika… Are you still with the Geneiryodan?"

"… Yes."

"So you can't talk freely, then… In that case, just don't answer if you can't."

Kurapika silently blessed the boy for understanding so quickly.

"But, Kurapika… I've a favor to ask of you. Could you hold your phone to your chest? Five seconds should be enough. Just so Leorio will know that you're not being controlled."

So they're suspecting him. Small wonder, really. Kurapika _did_ feel that he wasn't acting like himself. Circumstances beyond his control were forcing him to act differently in order to survive. Already he felt like it had been years since signing on as a Nostrad bodyguard, and decades since taking the Hunter exam.

"… Whatever."

He complied with Killua's request, holding the phone next to his heart far longer that it was necessary for Senritsu to read his mental and psychological condition.

"Well?"

"Thank you. You're all right, Kurapika," Senritsu's soft voice answered. "Just… Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, be careful."

Kurapika thought that maybe he should thank Senritsu for everything she had done for them, or at the very least, for her companionship, but before he could say anything, she'd handed the phone back to Killua.

"If Senritsu says it's okay then I don't have any objections. Just don't get yourself killed," Killua said grudgingly.

"Yes. Thank you, Killua."

"Don't hang up yet. Gon wants to talk to you."

As the phone changed hands, Kurapika heard Killua berating Leorio for being too noisy. He allowed a bit of guilt to seep through, for causing his friends so much trouble and worry. At this rate, too, he wouldn't be able to talk to Leorio. Perhaps he could type out and send a parting message to the man, considering that he seemed the most concerned for him.

"Hello? Kurapika?"

"Yes, Gon? What is it?"

"Kurapika! Do you really need to go?"

Kurapika sighed mentally. He had planned on this one phone call to be short and brief. He had already steeled himself to sound harsh and determined, to do away with pleasantries and make his friends realize that nothing was going to sway him from his decision to go with whatever the Geneiryodan planned on doing with him. Instead, here he was, up to his neck in what was fast becoming one of those sappy, bittersweet goodbye phone calls. Leorio the adult had turned out to be the unreasonable one, while the kids were being remarkably mature and accepting. The world was becoming harder and harder to understand these days.

"Yes… It's a gut feeling," and Kurapika glanced at Zenji's unconscious form, "I think that I'll eventually find the rest of the Scarlet Eyes if I stayed with them."

_If I can stay alive until the end,_ was the mental addendum that Kurapika dared not say out loud.

"The – the Geneiryodan? But –"

"They're not the only ones responsible for the massacre of my tribe." That fact was an extremely bitter pill to swallow and admit. Kurapika wondered if it was bile he was tasting at the back of his throat right now. At any rate, he did not turn around or look at the subjects of their discussion. To openly admit within his captors' hearing range was one thing, to do so while _looking_ at them was an entirely different matter.

"Really?" The boy was sad, Kurapika knew, probably unwilling to let him go but making an effort to do so out of respect for his will.

"I'll try not to die, all right, Gon? That much I can promise." Gon should realize that he was fine beyond doubt if he was already making halfhearted attempts at a lighter conversation.

"Okay…"

"Then… I have to go…"

"Wait! This isn't goodbye, right, Kurapika?"

"… Yes. Take care, Gon."

Kurapika finally hung up and headed back towards the waiting Geneiryodan. As he walked he tapped out a short message for Leorio, hitting "send" just as he reached them.

As expected, Nobunaga the samurai couldn't wait to poke fun at every action he did.

"Phinx, check my clothes, will you?" he drawled, scratching at imaginary itches, "I feel like there're ants in them…"

The second set of conditions didn't say anything about verbal attacks, so –

"Piss me off any more and I'll be obliged to lodge my fist," and Kurapika casually waved the one he had used to smash Zenji's balls in, "– in your face, Judgment Chain or no."

"Why you little –"

Yes, taunting the hotheaded samurai might just become one of his more favorite pastimes if they wouldn't let him do anything else. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing Nobunaga's face erupt in angry red blotches, then watching said blotches turn purple when he found himself being restrained and unable to reciprocate in the physical kind. Kuroro Lucifer must have given them orders regarding them attacking _him_, seeing as he couldn't defend himself without violating the conditions.

… Then again, self-defense isn't the same as outright betrayal or direct attacking, right?

Kurapika tossed his mobile phone back to Shalnark – the brunette caught the apparatus neatly, but his eyes widened in the fashion of one who loathed seeing electrical appliances being manhandled so roughly.

"Hey, don't toss it around so haphazardly! Wait, don't you want this anymore?"

"Throw it away for all I care. I don't think I'll be needing it any longer; and besides, Nostrad can track me down using its GPS feature."

Kurapika only used his former employer as an excuse; in reality, he was more afraid of the technologically-able Killua tracing him using the phone's position.

"Just erase the phone's memory," Kuroro put in solicitously. "Shalnark, it should be easy enough for you to reprogram the GPS feature."

"Okay…"

Kurapika didn't think that he'd need the phone anytime soon, but if they insisted…

"Well then, we've stayed here long enough," the leader announced with the air of someone who had accomplished something. "Hisoka called with the location of the main vault… We'll leave after cleaning it out."

_Only hours after joining the gang, and you're already involved in a theft. There's gotta be some kind of record for this…_

Not fun, having a conscience as sharp as a whip.

The mansion's main vault was located on the other side of the estate, and considering the gargantuan size of the house, it took them a while to walk from the hidden room to the location Hisoka had relayed. Kuroro didn't mind the long walk; it gave him time to think and go over his plans. It seemed that the old adage "dumb blond" didn't apply to Kurapika – and Kuroro had been right in thinking that the boy's intellect rivaled that of Shalnark's. Based on the phone call, it would be safe to assume that the Kuruta had already figured out his intentions, if not his complete agenda. It seemed that he also had no qualms about taking advantage of Kuroro's willingness to help him recover the Scarlet Eyes. Well, Kuroro didn't mind, as it would help in easing the process of warming Kurapika to the idea of being one of the Ryodan.

On the other hand, Kurapika, several steps away, wasn't enjoying the walk as much as Kuroro was. Zenji's house was gloomy, dark and dreary despite the lights illuminating its hallways. Its corridors were decorated with notable works of art that he would have loved to take time to peruse or study in any other, lighter situation. Considering his present companions, though, and the feeling of death that had spread throughout the mansion, sightseeing just wasn't possible. He also had a headache – started out as a dull throb at the base of his skull that had suddenly escalated into a pounding staccato between the eyes. And Nobunaga's whining was making it worse.

The vault door was open by the time they reached it, the last three members of the Geneiryodan waiting by it. Kurapika hung back this time, not sure if he wanted to participate in ransacking Zenji's cache unless it was absolutely necessary. Besides, it seemed that this was one task he wasn't cleared to perform yet; he caught some of the Geneiryodan watching him warily from time to time as they went about opening crates and moving money. He had no need for money, and the items were probably stolen, contraband, or illegal. As a Hunter one of his duties was to restore historical artifacts and treasures that no one had the right to own for themselves, but right now he didn't care. His headache had increased in ferocity, and it was all he could do to stay upright and conscious. But there was one thing that needed to be done before anything else, and before he could succumb to the exhaustion that was threatening to pull him under…

There they were! Pakunoda was pulling out a container similar to the one from the auction, and in it floated his cousin's preserved eyes. They were red, but not as bright as his were whenever he used his Eyes. Zenji had not succeeded in drawing out their true color – they were dull and dark, a sign that their owner had died feeling pain and fear above anger. No wonder Zenji wanted the pair in the auction so badly; those were as perfect as specimens went. Kurapika's only regret now was that he had left them with Neon Nostrad. That spoiled brat didn't deserve them, and would never understand what had been sacrificed to obtain the thirty-six pairs of Scarlet Eyes now accounted for. He would have to find a way to take them back in the future.

Pakunoda handed the container over to Kuroro, who received it almost reverently. Yes, he was respectful. He knew an object of high value when he saw it. This pair of Scarlet Eyes was lesser in quality than the ones they'd stolen along with the other auction goods, but that didn't negate the fact that they were precious to someone else.

Kurapika was watching him, just outside the vault, and beside the open vault door. Kuroro didn't know how the young man would react. Should he walk over, and give him the Eyes? Or would he be trusted enough to hold on to them for the meantime? Now that Kuroro looked closer, the blond looked dead on his feet. Why had he not noticed Kurapika's fatigue before now?

Kurapika knew that they were watching him, waiting for his reaction. He didn't have any. He didn't feel anger, and he didn't feel the usual hatred or resentment. Oh, his eyes were still red, swirling with a thousand emotions. He was just too tired to feel them anymore. He only knew that his cousin's eyes were in safe hands. He was already a Geneiryodan, wasn't he? What the group owned also belonged to him. Anything should better than having his cousin's eyes in the hands of a pervert like Zenji. Even the Geneiryodan, despite their killing tendencies. At least they, it seemed, didn't kill for pleasure…

Kurapika staggered backwards against the vault door, his legs finally giving way. Fainting in front of his enemies was so undignified… not that he had any choice. The last thing he saw, before the abyss of darkness and doom swallowed him, was Kuroro's face, eyes wide in momentary panic and surprise.

--- end of chapter eight ---

notes:

1. Japanese words and meanings:  
a.) kan – the short swords Kurapika used at the beginning of the series  
b.) teme – vulgar form of "you"

2. Kurapika's cousin was invented out of necessity. I won't give her a name, as her role is only limited to these initial chapters.

3. Zenji's vault should resemble the vault George Clooney and co. raided in the movie Ocean's Eleven. Just a clarification, in case you don't know what I'm talking about in the last parts.

4. Is my idea of using another organization as a scapegoat (thereby shifting the blame off the Ryodan) too shallow or clichéd? There's something deeper behind all of this, I promise. It'll all the revealed in later chapters.

5. I've been downloading the manga from Toriyama's World… If the translations are accurate, I've confirmed some things, and realized a few other issues, which might present problems for the fic. Like Neon's predictions – I shouldn't just ignore them if I'm going for accuracy, HxH-wise, but I've completely disregarded them. As such, I've been basing the fic on the anime, which I've seen in its entirety before the manga. Wild Hearts is an AU, anyway… you'll be seeing more deviations as the story goes on. Unless anyone has violent objections?

Last edited on February 10, 2005


	9. The Face of Twilight

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : After four days of being unconscious, Kurapika wakes up to find Kuroro sitting vigil beside his bed. Leorio finds respite in his friends, and the mysterious organization Kuroro referred to makes its first move.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** My writing style might have changed slightly; the POV-ing skips from Gon/Killua/Leorio/Senritsu, to semi-conscious Kurapika, to unconscious Kurapika, to dreaming Kurapika, to conscious Kurapika, then finally a narrative (anonymous) third person POV. Everything's a bit unstable, though, and may be confusing at first. I'm warning you now that this chapter is not up to par with my usual standards, but please bear with me. I'm in some kind of transitional phase right now.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 9 – The Face of Twilight

"Wait! This isn't goodbye, right, Kurapika?"

"… Yes. Take care, Gon."

The line went dead. Kurapika had hung up, and Gon was left feeling empty, and sorry that he hadn't said anything more to express his thanks and care for someone who had willingly offered his life and freedom just so they could escape from danger. It was useless to hang on to the phone any longer, but Gon didn't want to put a definite end to the contact he knew would be the last they would be having with Kurapika for a very long time.

"You're done, then?" Killua asked quietly. The question was rhetorical, something to fill the awful silence that had settled around them when Gon had stopped talking. His ears were keen enough to hear the dial tone now sounding monotonously from the phone.

"Yeah…" Gon finally ended the call, and slowly, hesitantly handed it back to Leorio, who had stopped struggling and yelling, and was staring dumbly at the inactive screen of his mobile phone. Killua had let go, and was standing to one side, seemingly unaffected, but Gon knew that the other boy was just as disheartened as he was at the turn that events had taken.

"I'm sorry, Leorio…" Killua began, "But you shouldn't have lost your temper. Kurapika was in a hurry. He could not have afforded to waste time arguing with us. Besides, you should know better than we do how stubborn he could be when it comes to matters concerning his clan…"

Why indeed had Leorio exploded like that? Gon knew that he and Kurapika were close – well, Leorio knew Kurapika best out of the three of them. And they all knew that moving a mountain would be easier than keeping Kurapika from doing something he had decided on doing, especially if the Geneiryodan or the Kuruta clan was involved. Of course, any sane man would think that the last place Kurapika needed to be was in the hands of his mortal enemies, but…

"Why did you hang up?" Leorio finally managed to ask, a bit angrily, "I wasn't done talking…"

"What? Didn't you hear what I've just said?"

"I did, but that's not the point!"

"Leorio, listen to yourself. Now _you're_ the one being stubborn," Senritsu said sternly.

"But I…" Leorio suddenly realized that he _was_ being stubborn. That last statement was like a slap to his face. What was he doing, arguing with Gon and Killua? They weren't the ones he should be angry with. He clicked his mouth shut, lest he say anything he'd regret later, and contented himself with grounding his teeth in vexation.

The bloodied sleeve was what had set him off. He'd been calm enough when they arrived at the building Gon and Killua had pointed out – at least, calm enough to be thinking of plans that were more than rational compared to just rushing in without order. Senritsu had confirmed that the building was empty, that there were no humans present in the whole cluster of abandoned buildings – in fact, no other living things except stray dogs and cats and insects seeking shelter from the pouring rain. With that assurance they had crept into the main room with just enough caution to avoid slipping on the puddles left behind by leaks from pipes and cracks in the walls. The initial plan had been to scout around for clues – anything that would explain why the Geneiryodan were acting as they had been. Then Gon's keen nose had stumbled upon what looked like a blood-red piece of cloth. It hadn't taken long for them to realize that the redness _was_ blood. Kurapika's blood.

Killua had told him how deep their friend's wound had been, then Senritsu had reassured him several times back in the car that she had "heard" no trace of the injury when she saw Kurapika on Sixth Avenue. Words had done nothing to prepare him for reality, though. He wasn't a licensed doctor yet, but he had studied enough to be able to diagnose if a person was about to go into, or is in shock, by the amount of blood lost. The sleeve of the receptionist uniform Kurapika had donned was at least a couple of feet long, and enough blood had been shed to dye all but a few pink threads red – to say nothing of the puddle that had dripped down Kurapika's arm before the blood had had a chance to coagulate. A normal person would need to be hauled to the ICU by now.

Be rational, _think_ rational, Leorio had told himself in order to stop the rising voice of hysterical worry that had again threatened to break through his calm, but then his phone rang, and all it had taken was one look at his mobile phone's LCD screen, and at the blinking letters that spelled out the caller's identity. Everything he had planned on saying should he get the chance to talk to Kurapika again – perhaps even find the courage to admit his affection for the blond – thrown out of the window for a few yelled demands, oath-laden and uncouth. It was most likely his own fault that Kurapika had been turned off in the first place.

_Of all the stupid, idiotic – should have kept my big mouth shut –_

And now he'd probably never see the other boy again.

Killua was just as worried as Gon was at the way Leorio was acting, but unlike the naïve Whale Islander, he had a pretty good idea of why their friend seemed more hot-tempered than usual. He'd seen the way Leorio had looked at Kurapika ever since reuniting after their six-month separation, and he knew more than enough to conclude that Leorio was most definitely smitten with the Kuruta. It wasn't strange, and he wasn't disgusted; Killua was mature and open-minded enough to accept the possibility of men being attracted to other men. Of course, it helped that Kurapika was pretty enough to be mistaken for a member of the fairer sex…

"Fine!" Leorio said so suddenly that Gon jumped at the half-yell that echoed around them. "So what do you think we should do now?"

"I haven't planned anything yet, actually," Gon admitted. "But I was thinking that I should continue trying to get that Greed Island game…"

"What? You mean you're just going to leave Kurapika like this?" This time Leorio _was_ yelling, and Gon could see that even Killua seemed dumbfounded by his prompt answer.

"I didn't mean it like that! Of course I'm worried for him, but I trust Kurapika," he explained before Leorio could throw another tantrum, "And I believe that he's doing what he thinks is best for himself."

"Just what part of 'going with the Geneiryodan' d'you think is best for Kurapika?"

"I…"

"You don't know."

Both he and Leorio were silent after that; in the echoing caverns of the huge room, Gon's heartbeat thudded louder than ever, almost deafening to his ears.

"I don't understand you, Gon," Leorio began after thinking of what to say, it seemed, for quite a while. "Why – how? How can you just talk of leaving Kurapika like that? You didn't give up this easily when we went after Killua."

"But that was different!" the boy protested. "Killua didn't want to go back –"

"So you're saying that Kurapika wants to go with the Geneiryodan?" Leorio interrupted. "That he isn't being forced against his will?"

"Come on guys, let's stop this…" Killua muttered, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of his forced return and subsequent release.

"All right, he was!" Gon yelled. Killua blinked in surprise. Gon almost never raised his voice in anger against his friends, except when he was especially passionate about something. Even Leorio was momentarily stunned, and he stared at the youngest of their group as if seeing him for the first time.

"He was at first. I think he would even kill himself than be beaten by the Geneiryodan. But things changed. It was in his voice, Leorio. When I talked to Kurapika over your phone, I could feel that he was really determined to go with them," Gon explained in his normal tone of voice, which started out grim, but changed to sheepish halfway through. "You know me… I wouldn't have left him alone, even if he had told me to. I would have run after him, not caring even if the enemy's too powerful for me to fight alone."

"Then why didn't you?" Leorio demanded, still uncomprehending.

"Because this is something that Kurapika needs to do alone," Gon said, almost triumphantly, as if he had been unsure about what to say, but then realizing that he knew the right words after all. He plowed on, the light in his eyes intensifying in his eagerness to explain what he had felt from Kurapika in their short talk. Senritsu, standing apart from the other three, smiled at the dark-haired boy, as if agreeing completely with what she was hearing.

"I don't know much about the Kuruta, and I don't understand what Kurapika is going through, but I don't think that revenge is the right thing to do. I don't want Kurapika to keep on fighting for the rest of his life. I just can't picture him having so much hatred. What will happen from now on, is up to Kurapika to decide, but he has to let go of the past eventually. He has to move on."

"Whoa, Gon… That sounded really mature!" Killua remarked admiringly.

"Yes, well said, Gon. I could not have explained better," Senritsu praised, still beaming like a teacher fondly regarding her best student. "It's as you said. The winds are changing. I can _hear_ them changing."

Gon grinned bashfully at the praises from his friends. He had tried to explain the best he that he could, knowing, perhaps only unconsciously, that what Leorio might do next hinged on how well he could phrase his words. He was the last to talk to Kurapika, after all. Now he turned to look at Leorio, anxiously checking to see if his speech had any effect.

Leorio was crying. Or, at least, visibly struggling to hold back tears, and not making any effort to hide it.

"Leorio?"

"I know. Damn it, I know. You think I don't? Kurapika is – I –" Leorio choked back whatever it was he had been about to say, then brought a hand up to scrub at his eyes. "I know, but I can't – I _don't_ want to leave him alone against the Geneiryodan! I have to be with him; I need to be beside him! I know I'll just drag him down… but I still want to help him – and I'll find a way, even if it would take me years to do so!"

"Leorio, you're not… No. You're not thinking of doing the same thing he did, are you?" Killua asked.

"Why not? It's better than nothing."

"Leorio, don't. That's the last thing Kurapika would want you to do! He warned us about his nen, don't you remember?"

"It gave him a power strong enough to defeat a Geneiryodan."

"Leorio, your nen is of the releasing aspect. It'd be impossible to copy what Kurapika did. And what about your dream? You're a doctor, not a fighter!"

"I don't care about that now! I'd throw it away, if it means being able to help Kurapika!"

"Leorio, stop being so stubborn!" Now even Senritsu was getting agitated. She was covering her ears with her hands, eyes squeezed shut against a sound none but she could hear.

_His heartbeat… is changing! I couldn't stand listening to his despair awhile ago, but this is worse! Somebody stop him… somebody stop him before his heart changes completely!_

Gon and Killua were arguing with Leorio, who kept on refusing to listen, growing more and more decided on the plan of action he wanted to take. Senritsu was backing away, vainly trying to block out the sound of Leorio's heartbeat thundering on to become the ocean she had described hours ago, but this time it was calm – too calm, the horrible hackle-raising stillness of a dormant sea just before a hurricane hit. He was starting to act like Kurapika, cold and uncaring of what could happen to himself in the process of achieving his goal.

But just before the situation could turn explosive, before Leorio could fully make up his mind, his mobile phone beeped, the foreign sound halting all conversation, diffusing the tension in an instant. It signaled an incoming message.

All Leorio could do at first was to stare at his pocket. His phone was new; he had not given his number to anyone outside of his friends and Senritsu. Three out of the four were with him, and from whom else could the message be but the fourth?

"It's… it's from Kurapika…"

"What does it say?"

**_I'll kick your ass if you're not yet a doctor the next time we meet._**

"Kurapika… He must have sent this after he hung up," Killua mused.

"See, Leorio?" Gon pointed out. "Kurapika _wants_ you to become a doctor. Do you still want to continue? You know how strong Kurapika can be when he gets mad."

"That idiot… That's just so like him…" Leorio finally muttered, but the curse wasn't seriously meant. He was smiling through his tears, smiling in relief and remembrance, crying because he felt helpless and frustrated.

"You don't have to feel that way, Leorio. You don't have to go through this alone," Senritsu comforted, mother-mode turned full-blast and zeroing in on the distress Leorio was broadcasting like heat from the sun. She could hear and feel what the young man in front of her was going through. She knew that he was very confused, that he didn't know how to stop the pain of worry and love lost from taking over. Kurapika was – is her friend, just like these three. In her colleague's absence, it would be the least she could do to stay by them and support them through this crisis. "And he'll be back. He wouldn't have said so otherwise."

She was right. They would be there to support him, as they had been doing all along. Leorio realized that he owed everyone at least one apology, and a lifetime of thanks for tolerating his selfishness, for still staying by him even after being yelled at. As of the moment, though, he was too choked up to string more than two words together.

"Thank you," he whispered.

There really was no need to say anything more.

--- ooOOOoo ---

…

…

"… wrong with him?"

"He's been sleeping for two days!"

"Hey, his eyes are open! Oi! Get up …"

…

"… doesn't seem like any normal fever or cold I've ever …"

…

…

"… see? He's awake again …"

"Awake, but I don't think he can see or hear us …"

…

…

"… can't we leave yet?"

"Dancho says we have to wait."

"Why the hell are we waiting for someone like him?"

"I don't know. And I can't understand why Dancho …"

…

…

"… some kind of coma?"

"Nobunaga didn't injure him _that_ badly."

"Blood loss, maybe?"

"If a tiny wound like that would cause him to pass out for three days, then he's not as strong as Dancho makes him out to be."

"You received his memories, didn't you?"

"Of course I …"

…

…

"… that?"

"Hmm? A video game. It's called Greed Island. Stole it off one of the auction guys an hour ago."

"Special delivery, huh? What kind of a game is that?"

"The catalog says that you can die in it for real."

"Wanna play? There's room for four players."

"Have you asked Dancho's permission …"

…

…

"… chain assassin! Haven't you forgotten!"

"No, I haven't. And would you please tone it down? You're shouting fit to wake the dead."

"I'll shout all I want if that's what it would take to wake the bastard!"

"Nobunaga, we've been through this…"

…

…

"… know you can hear me. Wake up! Don't let your nightmares drown you …"

…

-- -- -- -- --

Nightmares…? He supposed he could call them nightmares… hot blood, cold tears, raging fire and churning water, all washing together in a dizzying slideshow of sorts. He had long since stopped screaming, learned how to distance himself from the macabre images, a disinterested spectator struggling to ignore the cries of the fallen as phantom shadows dug claws in and rent flesh apart. The occasional twitch or moan escaped him, though, probably alerting those annoying voices to his tenacious hold on the waking world.

Annoying. Yes, the sodding voices were annoying. They disturbed his sleep, forced him into half-awareness from time to time. They were keeping him from sinking further into sweet oblivion, kept him on the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, where dreams seemed real and he had to fight not to get swallowed up by his nightmares. He wasn't _really_ hearing them, though, not in the normal way. He could understand only half of what was being said, and the rest went in one ear and out the other. He could also _feel_ – feel what the voices directed at him, and they were unflattering at best. Most were resentful, not understanding why he wouldn't wake, why they had to wait… Others were curious, and bored with nothing to do, turned their attentions to him. He could feel snatches of polite disregard, wisps of annoyed acceptance, perverse amusement in one instance, repressed anger in another…

One voice kept coming back, stood out amongst the babble of white noise. He – the voice was male, a low, rich baritone – was the one who kept on telling him to wake up, to not let his nightmares drown him… If he had been awake, he would have snapped at the man. He didn't ask to be inundated with these demonic dreams, had no wish to spend the rest of his life replaying them like a broken recorder, and most certainly wasn't purposely drowning himself in them. But… of all the voices that had spoken to him, he liked _his_ the most. Liked it and hated it at the same time. Hated it, because it was the most annoying, but liked it, because it sounded firm, patient, and calm… and out of all the voices, was the only one with the low lilt of sincere concern.

As much as he wanted to sit up and erase that person's worry for him, or – the other way around – shut him up once and for all and stop the annoying prattle, he couldn't, not until his body decided that he had recovered enough to move around again. Oh, his mind was very much awake, jumping from one train of thought to another, but completely disorganized, almost hysterical in the way it brought out even the deepest of his fears and hopes in the form of dreams. Dreams – not all of his unrest came from nightmares. He dreamt about his friends, of happier times, from life-changing happenings to the littlest details in memories he didn't even know he had. He dreamt about the past, the present, and about vague, foggy, confusing events that his fevered mind pegged as the future.

… Waxing nostalgic, or claiming clairvoyance? But that last one was absurd, he was no fortuneteller, not a soothsayer or a psychic to be able to see the future. He must really be deep in delirium to have assumed as much. Now he didn't know what he wanted to do, wake and put a stop to these ridiculous, but frightening dreams, and face once more the paths he must take in life, or continue to sleep and run away from the problems of the world, hopefully eventually finding eternal peace as his body slowly shut down…

…

The voices were back, persistent, querulous, worried – but not for him. Never for him. Warm, gentle hands carefully placed something cool and wet on his forehead, soothing the worst of the burning heat away from his face. Those hands also belonged to _him_. He liked their gentleness as much as he liked the simple honesty in his caretaker's voice… but he didn't know why _he_ insisted on staying by his side when it was obvious that most of the other voices resented the attention and care being given to him.

Two of the new voices were female, the third was a male. They were asking about what to do with a clown… Another mundane discussion, which did not concern him at the very least… well, he assumed that he had nothing to do with whatever was agitating them. What _did_ he have to do with a clown, anyway? Nothing, from what he could remember, but apparently, the third voice thought otherwise. The male was directing tight shafts of hatred at him, hatred so intense that he all but shuddered where he lay when he felt them. He knew the reason for their anger, knew that he was a caged bird surrounded by predators, and understood why they would want to swallow him whole. Awake and on his feet he would have fought back, done everything he could to avoid being caught by their claws, but immobilized and defenseless there was nothing he could do in case someone tried to murder him in his sleep. The owner of the low baritone and the gentle hands was the only one standing between him and certain death, death at the hands of the angry voices, or death in being abandoned to his illness.

The darkness beckoned once again, coaxing out of him a choice that he had been making quite often as of late. Blissful unawareness, or the pain of having to intercept such emotions at his level of empathy?

He fled.

…

…

He was dreaming again… He didn't mind dreaming; at this point anything was preferable to the cold black of complete unconsciousness, even the nightmares – though he'd do without them if he had anything to say about it. At least _this_ dream didn't look like it would be turning into a nightmare anytime soon…

He felt… strange, though… his body… it seemed so small, so weak. He saw through eyes not yet fully developed, the colors all around him muted and lacking the variety that separated one hue from the next shade, and the edges of objects he could see from where he lay were blurred and indistinct. His limbs flopped uselessly when he tried to get up to look around, small, kittenish movements with none of the grace and deliberate control he had learned to exert over the years. And his mind, too young to form even a single complex thought, made him do the first thing that he could think of when faced with the unknown and the frightening – which was to cry his lungs out.

A part of him gaped in horror and dismay; he hadn't cried for more than four years, and here he was, bawling like a baby!

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Damn, Grandma was right when she said that you had good lungs…"

The voice that suddenly spoke startled him, and did nothing to soothe his confusion. If anything, he belted his distress out even louder, as if demanding that the voice come over and comfort him RIGHT NOW!

"All right, all right… Come on, please stop… Don't disturb Mother while she's resting, all right?"

Hands – big hands! – lifted him gently, effortlessly, and carefully cradled him against a warm chest. The situation alone should have frightened him even more – he should be too big and too old to be cuddled like an infant, and nobody's chest was _that_ broad – but he quieted instantly, lulled by the soothing noises the voice was making, and the protective hands that held him and ran slowly up and down his back.

" 'Atta boy… What set you off, anyway?"

"What happened? I heard Kurapika crying."

"I don't know. He calmed down immediately when I picked him up, though."

"He's not hurt?"

A negative shake of the head from the one who held him.

"Diaper?"

"It's still dry."

"Probably a momentary lapse of capriciousness, then… Sometimes I wonder why I even bother getting pregnant… Be careful with him, dear. Don't drop him."

"Don't worry! Kuruta have hard bones, and even harder heads, but we're also very flexible. I think he'll just bounce right back if I do drop him –"

Giggling. He was giggling like a toddler, squealing in delight as the hands changed position, holding him under the arms and lifting him up high. The view was dizzying, but the height gave him a heady feeling of thrill and wild abandon. From his vantage point he looked down to see who held him, but light from windows and his own blurry vision made it difficult to see the face. All he could see was that the person also had blue eyes, and hair like his own, but lighter – almost a pale blond.

"– which I won't, seeing as you and Father would skin me alive if I did."

"Hmph. See that you don't." The command was given half-threateningly, half-teasingly, by a voice he hadn't heard for five years. _Mother?__ Is that really you?_ He twisted around – well, attempted to, as best as he could with a body too small to be anything but a baby's, and only succeeded in turning his head around. It would have to do. He could see her, even if she was just a blurry shape about a meter away. The task of trying to identify the person holding him forgotten, he now wanted her to pick him up, come nearer, anything that would get him as close to her as possible. He waved his hands around, made his demands in indecipherable gurgles, and kicked his feet feebly, as if by moving alone he could launch himself into her embrace.

"Bit too lively for his afternoon nap, isn't he?"

"Heaven help me if he has the same stubborn streak you and your father do…"

"Hey! Grandma said you were hardheaded as a kid, too."

"What? Now she's telling baby stories?"

"Yeah. All the adults in the village she watched growing up. Most of them were nice blackmail material, too."

"That's not funny. What else did she tell you?"

"Just kidding. You raised me too well for that. Though, this one story about you attempting to elope with Dad sounded really interesting…"

They were ignoring him! He was usually quite well-mannered, but no baby has ever taken disregard in stride. Just as well, then, that his belly had been tingling the past minute. All he needed was to concentrate a bit, and…

"Hey! No, don't…! Aww, man…"

He gave an infantile chuckle of mischief and smug satisfaction. The wetness that spread along his diapers and down his chubby legs was uncomfortable, but for once he didn't mind. It stained his caretaker's hands, too, and the dismay he could feel radiating off his unknown relative was worth it.

"He seems to do that deliberately, doesn't he?" His mother's voice was dryly amused. "It's high time you learned how to change his diapers, anyway."

"What? No!"

"You've avoided that chore for far too long now, with all your excuses of studying. Well, you said you're free this whole weekend, and there's no time like the present to learn a new skill." He couldn't see what his mother was doing, exactly, but she seemed to have taken hold of a white square blob from a larger blob from what he assumed was an open closet, and was now shaking it cajolingly. "Come on…"

His brother – it had to be a brother, the voice was male, and seemed to be a sibling rather than an uncle or a cousin – groaned. He giggled again.

"What am I to do with you, Kurapika?

-- -- -- -- --

"What am I to do with you, Kurapika?"

Kuroro hadn't meant for his quiet question to be answered, and he had directed it at the air, too softly for anyone else to hear, so he was understandably surprised when the object of his scrutiny suddenly awoke, eyes opening wide for a second before the blond closed them again, hissing in agony as light too bright for a previously unconscious person hit still-sensitive eyes. His surprise also made it impossible to hold back the string of curses that had sprung to the tip of his tongue when he realized the source of the Kurapika's pain – and since he didn't think it would matter, for now, if he kept appearances or not, he dropped his oaths liberally even as he dropped the book he had been reading in his scramble to dim the room's lights to a reasonable degree.

Dimmed as they were, though, any amount of brightness still hurt, as Kurapika found out after the dancing spots behind his eyes had faded away and he was able to open them again – slowly, with a lot of grimacing and blinking. And his headache returned with a vengeance, which was smashing, really, because that meant that pain was the first thing he felt when he awoke, and also the last thing he felt before he…

His blinking slowed as he started to remember what had happened before he fainted, who he had been with, and what he had been doing when he did. The memories were not pleasant at all, and how silly he must look like, lying flat on his back with the strangest expression on his face, brows drawn together in dismay, eyes still glazed with confusion, and mouth twisted sourly as if he had swallowed concentrated lemonade –

"I'm sorry. I didn't think that you'd wake so suddenly… I'd expected some kind of warning – fluttering of the lids and the like…"

Kuroro Lucifer. Kurapika couldn't help but stare. The man's eyes were alert and didn't seem to miss much, but he looked like he hadn't moved from his position by the bed in several days. His clothes were rumpled, had that slept-in look to them, and his hair was mussed, not slicked back like the last time Kurapika had seen him. It was obvious that he had been keeping vigil beside him for quite a while. The thought that the Geneiryodan head now looked incredibly young flitted across Kurapika's mind before he could stop it.

_… one voice kept coming back, stood out amongst the babble of white noise …_

Kurapika shook his head, then instantly wished he hadn't; his headache was turning into a full-blown migraine.

"Are you all right?" The last word was clipped, as if Kuroro had suddenly realized that the question was a stupid one. Of course he wasn't – a person who had been unconscious for several days straight was anything but "all right". "What I meant was, how do you feel?" he tried again.

"Wh –" Kurapika started at the sound of his own voice, which came out as a barely audible croak. He had to swallow several times before he was able to move the wad of cotton that was his tongue, but his throat still felt like it was clogged with thorny burrs.

He was positively mortified when an arm snaked under his shoulders and lifted him to a reclining position – just a bit to get him off the mattress, but the sudden change in his position made him dizzy and lightheaded. He wanted to jerk away from Kuroro's hold on him, but his body felt limp and boneless, stiff and heavy all at once, and all he could manage was a feeble twitch. The rim of a cold glass of water on his lips mollified him somewhat; need won over pride and he took a few sips of the proffered water. The cool liquid dissolved the hot stuffiness of his throat, at the very least.

"Better?" Kuroro asked lightly after lowering Kurapika back against the pillows. He didn't answer, to answer was to acknowledge, and to acknowledge meant he was grateful. He was being stubbornly childish, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Kuroro's voice was brisk, businesslike, but Kurapika had the feeling that the man was amused at him – concerned, maybe, but also amused. That casual disregard of the enmity Kurapika himself had started and caused – had all the reason to receive back threefold – confused him. Why was the Geneiryodan leader insisting on acting as his personal nurse?

_… out of all the voices, was the only one with the low lilt of sincere concern …_

For that matter, why was he concerned at all?

An insane thought suddenly came to him, a question concerned about tiny details that he did not have time to be concerned over. He was a captured person, a prisoner brought to heel against his will, but what, really, were the Geneiryodan planning to do with him? Kuroro did say that he was to be one of them from now on, but he'd be a fool to trust the word of a Spider. Was he to be a tool, spared because of his abilities? Or a hostage, with a momentary use, to be thrown away after he had fulfilled his purpose? Or a curiosity, a trophy, the last Kuruta alive, an interesting "pet" that had snagged the eyes of the man observing him right now?

That he could not think of anything else to say other than the idiotic question he now wanted to ask, that he still had the gall to lace it with as much sarcasm as he could dredge up in his pitiful state when a single misstep or mistake could get him killed, suggested that he was still feverish, if not the least bit delirious.

"What should I call you now? Kuroro, Dancho, or 'master'?"

He wasn't looking at Kuroro – he refused to look the Geneiryodan head directly in the eye, so he missed the small smile that tugged at the corners of the other man's lips; and nor was he able to suppress the involuntary flinch his body made when a hand suddenly loomed in front of his eyes to settle on his forehead.

"Hmm… I think your fever's broken. At least, your temperature has lowered a bit. I can't be sure, though, as some nen users tend to have higher body temperatures…"

Kuroro removed his hand, but Kurapika could feel the skin on his forehead tingling, an impression left behind by the touch of another after being out of it, he assumed, for several days on end.

"Why are you helping me? Your friends would have found it funny if I had died of a fever," Kurapika recovered enough to demand.

"Fever? We both know that it's not that simple. Does this happen every time you use your Eyes?"

"… No." _Figures that he'd get right into the heart of the matter..._ Yet again Kuroro's answer was the last he'd have expected. Only five minutes after waking up, and already he had been startled into near-speechlessness no less than four times. The man seemed to live to catch him off guard.

"But it's not the first time, right? Using your Eyes extensively tires you out. The longer you stay in that state, the more exhausted you become."

It would be useless, really, to try to deny, to try to undo the damage the memory-reader might have done in revealing his memories, and his weaknesses, to the rest of the group. Kurapika didn't know how far Pakunoda had read, but it would be prudent to assume that they knew everything – and that assumption rankled. His most private thoughts, all his secrets and regrets, some of which not even Leorio and the others knew, all bared for his mortal enemies to see, dissect, and take advantage of.

For the meantime, at least, Kuroro Lucifer didn't seem interested in doing anything of the sort. He had taken out a thermometer while Kurapika was deep in his thoughts, and was shaking it lightly, checking to see if the mercury reading had fallen to an appropriate level. Kurapika now stared at it as he would at a venomous snake; the image of the almighty Geneiryodan leader shaking a thermometer, again like some kind of nurse, was too ludicrous to be believed.

He was still staring at the thermometer, as if afraid it would suddenly grow teeth and bite, when it was offered to him, and he didn't react when Kuroro gestured for him to open his mouth so that the measuring end could be placed under his tongue.

"Come on, it won't bite," Kuroro gently coaxed; and when Kurapika still gave no answer, he sighed dramatically. "Well, you have to choose. Mouth, under an armpit, or up your a–"

Kurapika hurriedly opened his mouth before the third choice could be completed. Of course he'd choose the first – it was the least of the three evils! He realized with horror that his face was getting hot – probably more from embarrassment and anger than the fever; and his dismay deepened when Kuroro smiled at him unabashedly.

_He's… he's laughing at me!_

Look away, and most likely embarrass himself more with his damnable reactions to the other man's attentions, or dig his heels in and glare back with all his might. Kurapika settled for the second, and was promptly disconcerted even more when Kuroro laughed.

"No, sorry – I didn't mean to laugh at you."

Kurapika scowled – well, gave his best approximation of a scowl with his mouth tightly closed around the thermometer, then looked away. Focusing on his surroundings might give him time to recover and organize his thoughts…

"We're in a small hotel a few kilometers from the city proper," Kuroro said lightly, a hand on his wristwatch as he waited for the customary five minutes to run out. "And don't worry; your friends won't be able to track you down so easily. We paid the manager to keep quiet."

The room they were in was indeed a far cry from the abandoned hideout. The walls, although painted unevenly with a light shade of blue, were at least clean and free of dust and dirt. The ceiling was paneled wood, not at all dinghy or cobwebbed. Furnishing was plain, but there were the basic bed, bedside table, cabinet, desk, duo of small couches around a low coffee table, and extra chair, which was the one Kuroro was occupying. No television, and no miniature refrigerator with the tiny bottles of wine, but Kurapika supposed that he shouldn't expect the last two amenities in a hotel specializing in catering to fugitives from the law. The room would have seemed much, much duller – if not for the slightly noisy air-conditioning unit mounted below one of the shuttered windows.

"You were out for four days. Nobunaga mentioned something about leaving you for dead if you still wouldn't wake after today, but now that you are, there shouldn't be any problem…"

Kuroro, seemingly oblivious to Kurapika's bewildered glances, continued to chatter cheerfully, the topics he touched on random fodder for small talk. Kurapika tried to listen, but his headache worsened when he attempted to focus on the words. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brows against the pain, and stopped his attempts to understand what was being said.

"For your question, just 'Kuroro' would be fine, actually – but I prefer that you call me Dancho when we're with the others."

At least Kuroro made no mention of the "master" bit. He had embarrassed himself enough for today without even trying, and should not be doing the same thing on purpose.

"By the way, you'll want to take a bath soon; the bathroom's over there by the cabinet…"

_Bath__…? Yes, a bath sounds nice…_ He'd been sleeping for four days; it was a wonder that he hadn't started to stink yet. The cool air circulating from the air-conditioner must have kept that at bay. Still, he could feel that his hair had become greasy. If not for the fact that he was getting sleepy and tired again, he would have stood up and tottered to the bathroom for a much-desired bath, fever or no.

"Are you getting tired already? Well, hold up for a couple more minutes. I have one last important thing to tell you."

Kurapika suppressed a yawn, thinking that he'd much rather go to sleep again, but he opened his eyes halfway. Kuroro was looking at him with a no-nonsense expression on his face, the first he had seen on the man since waking up.

"This might be a bit difficult to do, but I want you to try to avoid using your Eyes from now on."

This time Kurapika didn't need to struggle to stay awake, incredulity did it for him.

"Alright, it's been six minutes. Let's see if you've gotten better." And with that Kuroro plucked the thermometer from his now slightly open mouth.

" 'try not to use the Eyes'?" Kurapika echoed in disbelief. "I can't even control it that well! It reacts to emotion, and how the hell am I going to stay calm around you people?"

"I'm not _ordering_ you, you won't be compelled by the Judgment Chain. Just… try, okay? I'll not have you collapsing in exhaustion every time you get angry… Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to make things work here."

Kurapika didn't want to admit it, but Kuroro was right. His father had often told him that letting his emotions rule his actions would mean his defeat in a fight, but a certain level of anger was needed in order to trigger the Scarlet Eyes – thus he had to have enormous self-control to be able to harness their power properly. Just the mental effort of keeping his anger from overriding his senses tired him out – what of the physical side effects, the damages to bone and sinew? His heightened senses, enhanced strength and speed, and the switching of his nen from materializing to special were welcome bonuses, but he didn't know what adverse effects constantly using the Eyes would have on his body. The formal training he should have undergone at fifteen would have addressed that, but that avenue was lost to him. No written records of his clan's secrets existed; everything was passed on by word of mouth from teacher to student, from parent to child. Kurapika had never heard of, or encountered a Kuruta injuring himself from overuse of the Eyes, outside of his own tendency to push himself to the brink of exhaustion, but there's always the first time. And he did not believe that simply getting tired was all there was to it; something as useful as his clan's ability would have to be balanced by a sacrifice on their part.

Along that thread of thought, something suddenly occurred to Kurapika, and he determinedly ignored his headache as he tried to recall the events of four days ago. When his memories came back, he was alarmed to discover that there was a hole in them, one patch of images obscured heavily, as if covered by a thick layer of fog. It was right after receiving Pakunoda's nen bullet point-blank between his eyes. He could remember the memories she had given him clearly, unfortunately, but not what he had done after seeing them.

"Hmm… Thirty-seven point five…" Kuroro muttered, peering at the thermometer reading. "Just to be sure, you'll have to stay in bed for a couple more days. It would be better if your temperature drops past thirty-seven, but if it doesn't change after two days I'll assume that that's your normal body temperature."

"I… can't remember."

"Come again?"

"I can't remember what I did… after I was shot… Everything's fuzzy… and it felt – different…" Kuroro was watching him intently, and Kurapika's voice faltered. He didn't know why he was getting comfortable enough to hold a civil conversation with the man, and he couldn't understand why his tongue was loosening, why he was getting careless with his thoughts. _It must be the fever talking. There can't be any other explanation…_ And he was getting tired again, the momentary burst of energy caused by his disbelief rapidly depleting.

"You mean you don't know that…"

" 'Don't know that' what?"

Kuroro was frowning, and he was still looking into Kurapika's eyes, but his gaze was puzzled, a bit unfocused, as if he was trying to recall something with the aid of his face.

"It's probably nothing…" he finally said, a bit too hesitantly for Kurapika's ease of mind.

"Don't lie to me," Kurapika said curtly, and forced himself not to look away when Kuroro elegantly raised an eyebrow at his demand.

"I'm not sure what I saw, all right? I'll tell you when I've figured it out. About Zenji… you were really angry. Let's just say that there won't be any little Zenjis running around anytime in the near future, thanks to what you did to him."

This time it was Kurapika's turn to frown in confusion. What he did remember seemed like a dream, and he wasn't sure if it was real or part of all the surreal dreams he'd had over the last few days. If it was real, though, he'd beaten Zenji to a pulp, and then…

_Oh, bloody hell…_

"It seems you do remember – the nut-cracking bit, at least," Kuroro remarked when Kurapika's frown turned into a grimace of disgust. He then gave a startled blink when Kurapika started to get up.

"Hey, I understand that you'd want to go wash your hands after recalling that, but you're still too weak –" As if to support his diagnosis, Kurapika's arms gave out, and he flopped back down with a groan as the world tilted crazily about him. "– not to mention that you won't be able to stand up immediately after lying down for so long."

Kurapika blinked groggily. Were the few lights still on faulty, or did the room just get darker? _Oh, no, not again…_

"Don't be too hard on yourself; you're just tired. Go ahead and sleep, I'll wake you after a few hours."

He must have mumbled his last thought out loud. He vaguely heard Kuroro mentioning food and a bath; the rest were drowned out in the wash of white noise as sleep came, as abruptly as it had left him mere minutes ago.

--- ooOOOoo ---

Heavy blinds threw the room into relative darkness, cloaking the figure seated on the high-backed chair in shadow. The only sources of light were the thin lines of sunlight slipping in between the closed Venetian blinds.

"Did you find anything?"

The figure on the chair shifted uneasily; he turned to address the tiny red light on the console in front of him.

"It's as the initial reports say, sir. Guards on the outside, gone without a trace. Everyone inside dead, except for Zenji. We were able to narrow the causes of death down to six or seven. They matched some of the patterns in last week's auction incidents."

"The Geneiryodan?"

The voice coming from the speakers of the console was quiet, and yet commanding at the same time. He had never decided if the man he regularly made his reports to was a tenor or a bass; it seemed to alternate between the two, depending on the speaker's mood. Right now his superior's tone of voice was light – he didn't know if that was good or bad. Nothing had ever happened to him ever since he had been transferred to this particular division of the organization two years ago, and he intended to keep it that way.

"Yes, I think so, sir."

"And Zenji?"

"Badly injured, sir. Multiple fractures to the ribs, broken nose –"

"I don't need a list of his injuries. Tell me what he told you."

He shivered. He always did when the reports he had to make were unpleasant. Too many of his predecessors had "vanished" when the news they bore was particularly displeasing. It was an unsettling occupation, but the pay was ridiculously high. The rule of thumb to be able to survive his job was to play the dumb, obedient messenger, but his superior had once said that his "ability to combine tact and candidness was appreciated". He fell back on that ability now, and prayed that it wouldn't fail him.

"I-I'm not sure if half of what he said was accurate. He was too angry to be coherent."

"Greedy bastard can go to hell for all I care. But we need information, and he's the only witness we have."

"As you say so, sir." He quickly shuffled through the sheaf of papers he held, looking for one particular transcript. "Ah… he says that the Geneiryodan attacked his house, but he was assailed only by one of them. A boy, late teens, blond hair and red eyes. A Kuruta, according to Zenji, sir; employed by the Nostrads, and the last that he knew – should have black eyes when normal."

"A Kuruta? … Anything else?"

"They cleaned his vault out. If you would forgive me, sir, I took the liberty of checking… Among the items taken was a pair of Scarlet Eyes, serial number SE-016."

The speaker did not reply immediately after that. He was used to his boss's introspective moods, sometimes stretching for as long as five minutes of him squirming uncomfortably while waiting for his next orders. He dared not interrupt, of course, but it was hard, keeping his mouth shut, keeping all the questions he had from bursting out. He had once dreamed of being a Hunter, and he had studied all he could about lost civilizations and obscure cultures. The Kuruta was a particularly interesting tribe, shrouded in mysteries and secrets, but they had all been killed five years ago, leaving behind more mysteries, and thirty-six pairs of eyeballs with red pupils, now considered to be among the most sought-after artifacts of the anthropological world.

The silence seemed longer this time around, though, and he wondered if he had stepped out of his bounds. Or if the console had malfunctioned, leaving him sitting there looking like an idiot while he waited for a reply that might never come.

No, he would wait. He will not leave the connection unless he had been given permission to do so. If he wanted to die, he'd hang up on his boss right now – but he was still attached to this life, firmly fixated on the idea of living, thank you very much.

Still, he was immensely relieved when the console squawked, so much so that he jumped in surprise, then sagged into the chair limply, because it seemed that he'd still get to keep both his life and his monthly stipends.

"You did well. Did anyone ask questions?"

"No, sir. Nobody ever bothers a rich 'relative' from out of town, especially one with a police ID. And Zenji was particularly accommodating, spitting mad he might be."

His boss barked an appreciative laugh. "I'll have to ask you to stay there for a while, if it's all right with you. Zenji tends to, say, 'forget' important details whenever interrogated by representatives of the organization. It would only be prudent on our parts to leave a trusted man behind, in case he remembers something."

"I have no objections, sir – and you really didn't have to ask. I'll gladly stay here, if that's what you wish."

"Good, good. Report back in exactly one week. Oh, the usual amount will be transferred to your account, plus a bit of a bonus I told the accounting guys to include in your package…"

"Y-yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

"By the way... You might have done well up until now, but this is where it gets more critical. Take care not to commit any mistakes. I'm counting on you."

"Y-yes, sir…"

A click, then a beep, followed by the monotonous drone of a dial tone signaled the end of the conversation.

The figure on the chair stayed still for quite a while, as if frozen by the last words his superior had let loose at the end. He did not move as the light from between the blinds changed from the white of noon to the orange of afternoon to the blood-red brilliance of sunset. Only when darkness had started to fall, intermittent beams from passing automobiles stabbing through the windows, did he rise, moving slowly, carefully depressing a switch on the console. The blinking red light died, and a mechanism moved within the desk. The protruding speakers sunk into the wood, and panels slid into place with a soft whirr and a tiny snick, leaving the surface of the table smoother than lacquered oak, without any seams to indicate that such a communication device had ever been built into it.

The man in the heavy black coat left, gently closing the door behind him, throwing the room into utter darkness.

Outside, twilight fell.

--- end of chapter nine ---

notes:

I apologize for bringing this out so late. Please note, though, that this chapter is long enough for two. :3 And despite its faults, I really worked on it... I'm dedicating chapter 9 to Koti, whose friend recently died of leukemia. Koti and her sister Lili are two of my earliest reviewers, and have been there almost from the start. A part of this fic's continuity, I attribute to their support… Hang in there, Koti. I hope you're doing better now.

Explanations are in order… I had Yukitsu read the initial draft (Thanks for the much-needed help, by the way!) and the comments she gave made me realize that some of the scenes might be confusing.

The jumbled sentences are various Geneiryodan talking. That's Kurapika, hearing them as he wavers in and out of unconsciousness. It's just like in the OVA, where he opens his eyes periodically. He can see and hear, but he doesn't know what he's seeing and hearing. As for who the speakers are, use your imagination. ) They should be pretty easy to figure out, but if you can't, email me and I'll explain in more detail.

The dream should be quite obvious, I think. I won't reveal who the unknown relative is until later on, though I think some of you already know… His role will be fairly important, in terms of plot twists… Oh yeah, I'm not sure how a baby thinks like, and I don't know how much a baby can see, but any discrepancies, I will explain away with the excuse that the physiological make-up of Kuruta eyes are different from normal ones.

As usual, domo arigato gozaimasu to everyone who reviewed… I've never really expected it to reach 180. :) Thanks, everyone. All your input and encouragements have helped me greatly.

Last edited on February 11, 2005


	10. Interlude

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Planning, plotting, scheming on both protagonists' parts – in other words, the calm before the storm.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Stupid QuickEdit function's screwing with all the punctuations! I had to go through all the previous chapters and change the backslashed thoughts to italics…

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 10 – Interlude

Kuroro had kept his promise about waking Kurapika, rousing him – after exactly five hours – from a particularly nasty nightmare of super-deformed, psychotic Geneiryodan and dozens of leering mini-Zenjis. His dreams about the past had stopped; he couldn't say, though, if disturbing nightmares about mafia overlords were better than dreams about his murdered clan…

He had been allowed to take a bath; his strength had returned relatively quickly for him to be able to stand and move around unaided. Kurapika had been immensely relieved to find out that the proximity rule didn't extend to personal activities – such as going to the bathroom alone. He himself didn't know _all_ the laws that governed a conditional ability such as his, and had fretted for a while over the possibility of the Geneiryodan head having to accompany him while he relieved himself. The Judgment Chain, it seemed, was giving him a bit of leeway – and Kurapika had decided that he shouldn't think too much about it, but instead be grateful that he was still alive after shutting the bathroom door and cutting off Kuroro's line of vision to him.

Of course, he'd had to discard his clothes – he couldn't keep on wearing the female receptionist uniform, now, could he? Someone had brought him a clean set, and Kurapika refused to dwell on the thought that it could be Kuroro who did. The clothes were normal, though – plain white polo, dark blue pants and underclothing. The shirt's size was correct, but the pants were a bit loose, and had to be folded at the cuffs. If it _was_ Kuroro who did the shopping, at least it wasn't black, and had none of the horrendous fur trimmings the other had on his coat.

After being given a light meal – enough to quiet the rumblings of his stomach, but not too heavy as to upset him right after coming out of his semi-coma – Kuroro had taken his temperature again. It hadn't changed at all in the five hours that he had been asleep, but Kurapika admitted that he was feeling better, which had to mean that he was on the mend. Then Kuroro had all but forced him to go to sleep again, saying something about them having to leave York Shin the next day.

Now, three hours after, Kurapika lay wide-eyed and awake. He felt that he had done enough sleeping, and could not understand why Lucifer kept on insisting that he rest more. The man in question was again seated beside the bed, and Kurapika had woken up to find the Geneiryodan leader slouched in a relaxed position, eyes closed, breathing lightly in slumber.

It was the first time – in the five days that he had been in their custody – that Kuroro had let his guard down in front of him. It was also the first time that Kurapika had the chance to think without anyone else watching over him.

Things were moving at a pace that he had no hold over. He had to regain some of his footing, at the very least a semblance of control – Kurapika loathed the feeling of literally leaving his fate in the hands of people he could not trust with even a second of his life; yet his situation was forcing him to do just that. He needed to do some serious thinking to come up with a plan to turn the tides to his favor, but he would have to sort his thoughts out first.

To say he was confused was an understatement. He should be biting, kicking, fighting every step of the way, not caring if the Judgment Chain triggered or not, but instead he was cooperating. He still harbored resentment, and he still hated each and every one of the Geneiryodan, but it seemed that they weren't the only ones at fault. And eight hours ago after waking up, after Kuroro had greeted him without even a hint of anger or suspicion, after realizing how weak he was then, and how much he had to rely on the dark-haired man for his survival, a part of that hatred had died.

Logic told him that he should stay calm and take advantage of the enemy's hospitality, and recuperate first before attempting to strike back. Unfortunately, he wasn't as objective as everyone made him out to be.

Kurapika thought of killing Kuroro right now, while he still had the chance to do so. The man was unguarded – the other Ryodan were probably outside or in other rooms – and he could probably pull off a strike before the Judgment Chain triggered; and by the time the other Geneiryodan realized what he had done, it would be too late, Kuroro would be dead, and he himself killed by the Chain…

Kurapika blinked in surprise as he stared at his hand, which had crept up from his right side to lie on his stomach without him realizing that he had moved it. It was relaxed awhile ago, fist open and fingers limp, but now it gripped something that hadn't been there moments ago.

It was a small dagger, plain and unadorned, but the point gleamed, and looked undoubtedly sharp. He could not remember materializing it, but it shouldn't be that much of a surprise, considering the dark turn his thoughts had taken.

Kurapika glanced at Kuroro for the nth time since waking up. The man really seemed sound asleep. He looked back at the weapon he had created. The blade looked long enough to pierce through the vital organs of a person's body.

It would be easy enough to kill Kuroro right now. Formidable fighter that he was, Kuroro Lucifer was still human, and no human should be able to survive a direct stab through the heart. One quick thrust through the center of the chest, and it would be all over. The Spider would lose its head, the legs would scatter, and he'd have done what he had set out to do, at the expense of his own life. It was a fair exchange, considering how many more lives would be saved with the disbanding of the Ryodan.

But… his hand did not move. It would not, it could not move. And – Kurapika realized after thinking the whole thing through – he _did not want_ it to move. The knife stayed still, harmless and unwanted. The way he stared at it, though… He must look like he was contemplating murder, or suicide.

Kurapika let go of his nen flows after a few more minutes, and the dagger disappeared.

_But it's not because I don't want to kill him. I need h– he's the link I need to find the rest of the Scarlet Eyes…_

First excuse that he could think of, and he still felt like he'd missed the chance of a lifetime.

"I'm an idiot."

He wanted to laugh at himself, but the best he could do was a self-deprecating grin that quickly turned into a grimace. He would have to put the problem of where his loyalties lay aside for another time; right now he had to do something about his headache – another thing that felt out of place.

He'd had headaches before, and he knew enough to surmise that most weren't the normal headaches people get everyday. His were related to his eyes; or at most, had to be caused by them, because the attacks always came whenever he used the Eyes. So far the headaches only brought pain; x-rays and CAT scans indicated no lasting damage or trauma, the last time he'd been in a hospital and had time to undergo a complete physical checkup.

What was alarming was that he had never heard his parents complain of headaches, despite the fact that he had seen them using their Eyes many times when they were still alive. For that matter, neither did his other relatives and the adults in the village. Oh, they had normal headaches – those caused by illness, lack of sleep, heat, etcetera – but never like his, not stabbing, sudden and swift, too quickly gone for him to physically react to the pain. Kurapika could only guess that it was because he had never been trained in using the Eyes, that he was missing something, or doing something wrong. It was another chance lost, another burden that he would have to carry and figure out by himself, because of what the Geneiryodan had done.

His headaches had gotten worse, longer than a momentary lapse, and even more painful. This was the fourth attack, since Zenji's mansion, since whatever it was he had done. And Kuroro still didn't want to tell him what had happened.

He had three options to choose from, to make the pounding go away. One was to wait for the headache to pass by itself. Number two was to go to sleep, a.k.a. try to knock himself out if he couldn't. The third was to take any one of the medicines Kuroro had provided for him.

Kurapika didn't want to wait; he didn't know how long this new breed of headaches lasted, but they seemed to go on forever, like Leorio in one of his stubborn moods. He didn't want to sleep either, and he wasn't desperate enough to want to try to club himself unconscious.

That left him with the third option – which he hadn't wanted to try at first, three hours ago. Kuroro had admitted that he had ordered a couple of the Geneiryodan to procure the medicine, but didn't specify how – and Phinx and Shalnark, being the thieves that they were, had robbed the most obscure drugstore they could find in the sleepiest district of the city, and lugged back boxes of most of the generic cold/fever/painkilling medicines they could get their hands on. Kurapika had refused to take any of the pills; no way in hell was he going to be caught dead with any of the stolen contraband – until Kuroro had threatened to shove the tablets down his throat.

Well, no one was watching now, and he really wasn't in any situation to be picky…

_Beggars can't be choosers… and one little tablet won't hurt…_

_That's where bad habits come from, and before you know it, you'll be stealing and robbing just like the rest of them_, his inner critic whispered. Kurapika resolutely ignored it and quietly popped an aspirin into his mouth, then followed it with a gulp from the bottle of distilled water Kuroro had placed on the bedside table. He winced again, then scowled at the man beside his bed.

_You probably have all of this figured out, don't you, you son of a bitch? And damn me for playing right into your hands…_

Not for long… not forever, if he could help it…

His anger was a mere whisper, a ghostly shadow of the rage he had felt, but still there, swirling, out of reach for now, and doused by the dreams he'd been having. It should come when he needed it.

Speaking of dreams – he had dreamed about something… very important, just before he had regained consciousness eight hours ago, but he couldn't remember what it was about. It tickled at the back of his mind, like an idea that nagged and didn't want to go away. But like all elusive dreams, the more he tried to hold on to it, the further it slipped away.

Kurapika growled in frustration. Had he been calmer, had he been in a less stressing situation, he would have recalled everything – he had a near-photographic memory to go with his intellect, but events and circumstances were conspiring to draw his attention away to more pressing matters. A week later would find him forgetting everything about the dream, even the fact that he had tried to jog his mind into remembering.

And had he been less distracted to pay his usual attention to detail, Kurapika would have chosen his brand of aspirin more carefully. The one he had picked randomly out of the pile on the bedside table caused drowsiness as a side effect, and he fell asleep, even if he didn't want to, a few minutes after taking it.

-- -- -- -- --

Kuroro opened his eyes the moment he was sure that Kurapika had indeed fallen asleep; the blond's chest rose and fell in time with his breathing, which slowly deepened and evened out in the pattern of undisturbed sleep.

_You are most definitely not stupid, my little Kuruta…_

"… just gullible, and a bit naïve, for someone from the materializing type…" he muttered.

He supposed he should not be surprised that Kurapika was still plotting to get rid of him; and he _should_ be surprised that the blond had decided not to use the conjured weapon in the end. It had taken every ounce of self-control Kuroro had, though, not to move or jump away when he had felt Kurapika doing _something_ with his nen.

Deciding to feign sleep had been a spur-of-the-moment decision – he just wanted to spy on the Kuruta while Kurapika thought that he was unwatched. The boy had also woken up just as he was shutting his eyes to rest them… Kuroro certainly had no idea that it would lead to a potentially disastrous situation.

Knocks sounded on the door, the hollow thumps seeming louder in the silence. Three confident, but quiet knocks, as if the visitor was afraid of intruding, but sure that his or her presence would not be turned away. In the past six days almost all of the Ryodan had requested to talk to him at least once each, and with nothing to do in his vigil Kuroro's mind had quickly figured out whose knocks belonged to whom. The other men knocked loudly, with varying degrees of respect or deference, according to their personalities. Quiet knocks meant the girls, and further elimination singled Pakunoda out, who preferred to knock three times.

_… I've been reduced to counting knocks,_ Kuroro suddenly realized. _Nobunaga's right, we've stayed here too long – any longer and I'll be guessing footsteps!_

The door was opened without him having to call out his permission – a privilege that he had trusted Pakunoda not to abuse. She wasn't his second for nothing; she could anticipate his moods somewhat, and knew how to assist him best while coordinating with the other members for him. She also knew that his trust partially stemmed from the fact that she never caused any trouble for him without any reason. Interrupting him while he was thinking or scheming counted as trouble for him, and even though he'd never gotten mad at Hisoka or Ubogin whenever they raised hell – intentionally and unintentionally, respectively – he still appreciated the empathy displayed by the more sensitive Geneiryodan.

"Dancho…"

Kuroro sat up straighter, then turned his head slightly to the left so that he could see his second from the corner of his eye. The gesture was the same as a verbal acknowledgement; he didn't talk if he didn't feel like it.

"Nobunaga is threatening to leave again. This time Feitan's muttering about going with him."

Kuroro sighed. He'd already told the Geneiryodan that they could leave anytime they wanted to. Their mission was done; the money from their heists would be transferred sometime next week. There was no need for them to stay behind, and while he understood their concern that he might be harmed if the chain assassin decided to go kamikaze again, they were getting infuriatingly overprotective. The dancho of the Geneiryodan can protect himself from the "crazy Kuruta" well enough – they had no right to tag along even if they weren't needed, and still complain about not being able to leave on their own time.

"Sorry, but you know how Nobunaga can be," Paku continued. Even if Kuroro wasn't looking at her directly, he still caught the quick glance the woman gave the figure on the bed. "He refuses to listen to reason when he's mad. He'd have charged in here minutes ago, if not for Franklin holding him back."

"And I've told him every time he barges in here that he can leave any time he wants to…" Kuroro muttered exasperatedly. "Tell him that we'll be leaving tomorrow."

The surprised blink Pakunoda made told him that his answer wasn't the one she had expected. Once again her gaze flicked to Kurapika.

"He's recovered enough to travel. The bed won't hold him for long, anyway. If we give him time to think he might come up with something we didn't expect."

"Are we going back to Shooting Star City?"

"Yes… but I'm thinking about making a few stopovers along the way."

"So you really are serious about helping him recover his clan's eyes."

Kuroro smiled. He wasn't going to be discreet; Pakunoda's most noticeable feature was, unfortunately, her large nose. One of the first things people saw was her figure – and maybe her seemingly lazy, but cunningly observant eyes – but every positive impression was inevitably overshadowed by the size of her nose. It wasn't really fair, because she was gifted with a brilliant strategic mind. He'd already told her about his plan to gain Kurapika's trust, but then again, not many would have made the connection between stopovers and stolen body parts, and even fewer were confident enough of their own intellect to confront him like Paku had done.

"If we're going to succeed in gaining his trust – yes, I'm serious."

"Dancho… why are you so sure that he'd make a good addition to the Geneiryodan? I admit that he has potential, but surely it would be easier to find someone who already has the right mindset. Reconditioning him psychologically will be next to impossible, especially since he hates us so much."

It was quite a long complaint, and one that he'd thought of and heard several times in the past week, voiced by different people, in different approaches. Paku could be as taciturn as he was, especially before, during, and after missions, and for her to speak out so volubly now meant that she was really worried. Kuroro didn't cut her off with the explanation he had ready, as it would be better to get doubts out early instead of letting them brood into trust and insecurity issues.

"He hasn't even matured into his nen yet. I just can't see the effort we have to put into training him turning out into something worthwhile…" Pakunoda trailed off, face reddening as she suddenly realized that she'd rambled. Kuroro waved a hand to disperse her embarrassment. He took a moment to compose his thoughts – he had a reason, but didn't know where it came from, or how he was able to come up with it. Paku should be able to understand, but it wouldn't do for her or anyone else to find out that he was having trouble thinking of the source of his hunches.

"Just after you gave him Zenji's memories, his nen levels increased. Around twice of what his usual levels would be, I believe. What makes the Kuruta so formidable is their ability to increase their power when their emotions are triggered. The changing of their eye color is just a side effect, an indication of that powered-up state."

Pakunoda nodded; all the Geneiryodan who had participated in the Kuruta mission knew as much. They had to know their enemy, and thankfully had been able to research thoroughly on their targets' capabilities and fighting habits before they were ordered to attack. The information the organization's representatives had given them had been sketchy at best, inadequate if they wanted to survive the assault with all limbs intact.

"It doubled again after Zenji accused him of being a Geneiryodan. At that point, he could have easily defeated you, Shizuku, Coltopi, and Shalnark in terms of nen output alone."

Pakunoda's eyes narrowed as she digested the information Kuroro had given. She knew her capabilities, and while it was nothing compared to him or the other offensive Geneiryodan, she was still acknowledged to be in the upper echelon of nen users. All the Geneiryodan members were. For their leader to just calmly announce to her that a seventeen-year-old boy could possibly be more powerful than four of the dreaded Phantom Corps was something a less open-minded person (like Nobunaga) would instantly reject.

"And Feitan would not be happy if I told him this… I estimate his level to be four times higher than Kurapika's – which means that they have equal power if Kurapika uses his Eyes. The same goes for Machi and Franklin… Paku, are you getting this?"

"Yes, but…" the Ryodan's second-in-command shook her head, her hesitation indicating disbelief warring with realization. She had been there when they confronted Zenji, and should have felt the sudden increase in Kurapika's nen. She had walked closer during Kuroro's explanation, and was now standing at the foot of the bed. "What are you saying? That this boy deserved his victory over Ubo?"

"Well, not exactly – that has to be lack of information on Ubo's part more than anything else… Paku, did you see his eyes when he turned to face us? After Zenji fainted?"

"Yes. His pupils narrowed – like convex lenses. Why? Does that have anything to do with all of this?"

"I've seen them before."

_Only, I can't remember where. Not at Rukuso… Not on one of those we killed…_

"They're not complete. He doesn't even know how to use them properly; he wasn't trained. I don't think he knows his own potential, because if he'd waited a few more years before challenging us, if he'd trained longer, and mastered every aspect of his nen, his Eyes – he could have escaped us at the warehouse with his friends, all of them unharmed. Most probably I'd be the only one capable of fighting him, and winning."

"He's that strong?" Paku was now staring at Kurapika with an intense light in her eyes, probably reassessing what she knew with what Kuroro had told her. She was still calm, blank-faced and almost unemotional, but he knew her well enough to notice that she had paled a bit. He also knew what that intense look meant.

"You're thinking that we should kill him if he's that much of a threat."

"Yes… I'm sorry, Dancho. I know you're interested in him."

"I've thought of that myself, actually." Kuroro stood up, straightened his rumpled clothes as best as he could, and padded silently to the curtained windows.

"Dancho?"

"After three months… if he hasn't come around… I'm giving you permission to judge him. You can kill him if you think that he's going to be a burden to the group."

Paku didn't react, but he could sense that she was surprised, because he had been adamant about not leaving Kurapika alone with Nobunaga or Feitan. Those two would have killed the boy in his sleep, given the chance.

In reality, three months might not be enough. Kurapika was rigidly moralistic, stubbornly set in his beliefs and principles. It might be too difficult to soften his views into something malleable enough to accept Geneiryodan precepts. But all the members had the responsibility of making sure that they acted for the well-being of the whole group. Kuroro's interest in Kurapika had been personal in the first place, (It had taken him the better part of the past week to realize and admit it to himself.) and it would be selfish, and irresponsible of him in his capacity as the leader if he didn't try to use the blond's abilities for the good of the group. He would do his best to help Kurapika, but if the boy refused to fit into his plans, Kuroro would have no choice but to turn his fate over to the other members.

"For now, though, he has agreed to cooperate, as long as being with us gets him nearer to his goals."

"You're going to use him, then?" Paku's tone was grudgingly approving.

"I prefer to call it a symbiotic relationship. He'll get what he wants – eventually – and he'll help us get what we want."

"What do we want?"

Kuroro closed his eyes, nostalgia curving the corners of his lips into a smile.

"You already know what it is, Paku. You don't need me to remind you of it."

Pakunoda didn't speak for a while after that, but when she did, a minute later, she sounded unimpressed, unaffected by the emotions speaking about the past brought about. She should be, and she really didn't need reminding, for she had been the first person to agree to join him, and the second person behind him to vow to commit to the goals he had thought up.

"I'll try to calm Nobunaga down. He should be near his limit now – it's been ten minutes since he started throwing his tantrum…"

It was only because he knew her as well as he did – having been with her for so long, even before the Geneiryodan was formed – that he was able to detect the note of trust in her voice. She was still a bit skeptical, but the doubt was gone, at least.

"I said that he could leave whenever he damn well wants to," Kuroro said tiredly. They were back on safer waters now, and he could reassume his primary role – the cold and calculating, sometimes sarcastic, constantly-suffering-his-followers'-antics role. The curse was only half-meant, but his exasperation was back full-force. "What, you don't think that I can defend myself if I have to?"

"Of course we do!" Paku's expression was far too innocent for her not to be at least a bit guilty of the accusation. "Just that more security is better than less…" Kuroro scowled, and made sure that she saw his frown so she'd know that he wasn't convinced. "Anyway, I think they'd want to stay with you more than ever if half of what you said about the kid is true. The last time you've been this excited was when you heard about Coltopi's ability…" The last sentence faded as Pakunoda retreated through the door.

It was her way of being playful, Kuroro knew – a front to counter his own childish side. If he was in a mood to actually show emotions he'd act all displeased about something, then she'd pretend to escape his wrath through whatever exit was handy, if they'd finished with the important discussions. She was the only one who could do that, since she always acted as the liaison between him and the other members.

_'Excited'? I'm not that obvious, am I? Anyway… that went better than I thought it would have…_

Kuroro had been prepared to plunge into the second set of justifications if Paku had needed to be convinced more. He'd fully expected her to ask about his refusal to try stealing Kurapika's abilities, because it was the complete opposite of what he always did whenever he encountered interesting adversaries with useful skills. It should be easy enough for him to fulfill the three requirements since he literally had the blond under his every beck and call, but again, it wasn't because he didn't want to – it was because he couldn't.

He hadn't been lying when he told Pakunoda that he'd probably kill the boy if he tried to steal his abilities. Kurapika had two types of nen – materializing and special, and both were unattainable.

In such cases where Kuroro could not steal his enemies' abilities, he'd try to kill them, rather than spare them and give them the chance to grow powerful enough to pose risks in the future. The Zaoldyeck pair that had attacked him back at the auction site were exceptions; they were just too strong. He'd probably have won if he had tried hard enough – and only if they fought one-on-one – but back then he hadn't felt like going all-out. Just as well that Zaoldyecks had funny work ethics; most killers don't stop pursuing targets just because the people who had hired them got themselves killed.

Kurapika's case was also an exception. He was the first person who was able to capture Kuroro even with the other members around, and that was better than what most fighters could claim. His abilities were also too useful to waste, especially his _tokushitsu_ skill. Since he couldn't steal them for his own – Kuroro didn't want to kill the blond, either – he would have to settle for the next best thing, which was to milk this opportunity to control Kurapika for all it was worth. Even better if the Kuruta could be influenced to change sides. In the event that he proved too stubborn to be influenced, though, Kuroro indulged in the hope that the other members would eventually learn to tolerate him – maybe even like the boy enough to spare him their judgment.

In any case, Kuroro Lucifer was a very patient man. He had to be, if he could sit for hours doing nothing while waiting for the others to report back after a mission – or even days on end waiting for the most opportune moment to strike the target.

Yes, patience was the key here. Patience is needed when taming a wild animal… and Kurapika _was_ a wild creature, only minus the barbarism, and twice the ferocity and beauty of a caged bird of prey.

He would not deprive a falcon of its beak and talons. But if he could tame the falcon enough that it would agree to use them at his command…

Kuroro smirked. Despite what he had told Pakunoda about equal trade, he had the upper hand on their silent deal with Kurapika. They were both plotting to use each other, they were both thinking of ways to manipulate the playing field to their advantage, but Kuroro was the better schemer. He had years of experience behind his belt, and he had no moral compunctions to hold him back. Kurapika would never know what hit him.

In a few more hours they would be leaving the city for the first of several new targets Kuroro planned to infiltrate. Pakunoda might be right that most of the others would want to stay with them – the Geneiryodan had bones to pick with the landowners of all of the said locations. If it were up to Kuroro he would have ordered the more volatile members out of the way – Nobunaga, Feitan, and Hisoka, for example – the situation with Kurapika was explosive enough without those three being their usual trouble-making selves.

On the other hand, life would probably get more interesting from now on – more interesting, and maybe less healthy for him. Kuroro was going to play the peacemaker, after all, mediator between two warring factions. And if he wanted to be an effective one in the inevitable meeting tomorrow, he would have to get some shut-eye.

--- ooOOOoo ---

"Any word from your informant?"

"He just reported in a while ago… but most of it is hogwash. Zenji's talking, but he isn't making much sense. He wants revenge for his, ah, 'injured manhood'."

"_I_ don't give a damn. It's his fault for revealing himself to the Geneiryodan. And I don't think that I'm the only one who will say that his balls won't be missed."

"Does this mean that we'll have to thank the Kuruta for ridding the world of Zenji's promiscuity?"

"Something like that. But we have to collar him first."

"Well, we do know that Lucifer is behind this."

"Impertinent whelp."

"Why – _how_ could a Kuruta be with him? We left none alive."

"Two were unaccounted for."

"Yes, I remember that. Truck and driver found in a ravine four miles from the rendezvous point, and the mauled bodies of two guards on the road a hundred meters from the crash site. The other two guards were never found."

"Yeah… Moneri was more pissed at the loss of the captives than at the loss of the vehicle and his men."

"And he raised quite a ruckus trying to get compensation by demanding for two of the extras."

"…"

"What is it? Did you know the missing pair?"

"Yes… but Zenji's Kuruta had black eyes. The two I knew were blue-eyed."

"It was always night whenever Zenji met him. It might have been a mistake."

"I would have believed it more if he were female."

"Why are you so uneasy? It narrows the search down to one person."

"No, it can't have been him. The attack on Zenji was too violent…"

"Five years can change people. You most of all should know that."

"Or it could be totally unrelated. He could be from another tribe – an offshoot line, perhaps?"

"That's just a rumor. It has never been confirmed."

"Or refuted, either."

"We could hire hunters to look for this fabled offshoot tribe."

"That's just a waste of time and money. We can find them easily with our own networks. _If_ they really exist."

"Gentlemen, we're straying from the main topic."

"Just send our boy here to deal with Lucifer."

"His research is far too important for him to just drop it all and go chasing bandits."

"You're making a huge mistake if you think that the Geneiryodan are just mere thieves."

"The team assigned to investigate the incident should be more than enough."

"I don't think so. The Geneiryodan killed the Inju to the last man – and without a single casualty on their side."

"Are you implying that my men can't –"

"It's alright, Altair. Your men should just do what they were trained to do – it would be wise if they didn't approach the Geneiryodan at this point."

"So you say that we should do nothing?"

"At this point, yes. It might be an isolated case; Zenji is not a popular man. You yourselves do not seem concerned that he was seriously injured."

"Hitting the nail on the head as always, Sahide?"

"Just stating the obvious."

"Can't argue with you if you put it that way."

"We should wait for now, but if they move again and the situation becomes too difficult for your men to handle, I will personally confront Lucifer and tell him to stand down."

"You might have to kill him, though. He's starting to step out of line."

"I am hoping that it would not come to that. His skills might prove valuable in the future."

"I think we should let Sahide handle this one. If there _is_ a Kuruta involved, he'll be the best equipped to fight them."

"Is that all right with you?"

"I don't mind. The labs will be quiet the next few weeks; we're just waiting for the results of the experiments done last month. I have plenty of time on my hands."

"Well, that's settled, then. Any more questions?"

"I have one request."

"Yes?"

"Will you permit me to visit Zenji? I might be able to get more coherent answers out of him."

"Be my guest. I imagine that Gilder's man must be getting sick of Zenji's toad mug by now – it would do him a world of good to be relieved, even if it is only for a few hours."

"Thank you. You will not be disappointed."

--- end of chapter ten ---

notes:

Guys, much as I adore reading your reviews, I need to get critiques once in a while. What you like and don't like about the fic, which parts you think helped develop the storyline, and those that are unnecessary, that kind of objective stuff. I have one year to go before I graduate, and I've never been as sure as I am now – I want to become a professional novelist. Getting feedback as early as possible will help me improve my writing, before it becomes too rigid to change.

I'm not certain on the power levels of the characters, so the comparisons Kuroro made are not accurate. But I've based them as best as I could on observations made from the anime and the manga (up to the Chimera Ant arc), and I'll be sticking to the aforementioned rankings unless there are violent objections. I may be a bit biased towards the characters I like, by the way. It's one of the kicks I enjoy in being an author.

I made the last part confusing on purpose, but it's supposed to be five people talking.

Wild Hearts has officially reached 200 reviews, after one year. A big thank-you to the readers and reviewers of this fic!

Reposted on March 9, 2007.


	11. Breaking the Habit

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author **: lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kurapika starts getting used to life with the Phantom Brigade, and Nobunaga throws a tantrum. Hisoka challenges Kurapika, who reluctantly agrees to fight him, and learns a new thing or two about his nen.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing.

**Disclaimer** : I _do not_ own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Real life. A Thesis Proposal. A truckload of projects. Uncooperative muses. You do the math.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 11 – Breaking the Habit

Nobunaga had never claimed to be a bright man, but he wasn't dumb, either. He could think if he needed to, but he usually left life-and-death decisions to their trio of thinkers – the dancho, Pakunoda, and Shalnark. And he had his share of half-assed stunts, but that department was Ubo's forte.

It didn't mean that Ubogin was mentally challenged, though. He was single-minded and stubborn, and he was the most childlike out of all the other members. Of course, it was hard to imagine that last quality in someone with Uvo's physical stature, but his best friend really was naïve in many things.

Like the opposite sex, for instance. Ubo was fearless is battle, but he quailed in front of women. Paku and Shizuku were exceptions; they were like mother and younger sister to Ubo – the familiarity gained only after years of companionship. And he treated Machi like a classmate; they went along fine when they needed to work together on a mission, but Ubo preferred not to approach her on matters outside of fighting.

Ubo was also very opinionated. He had a set of rules that he believed in and kept to, and no amount of deception, persuasion, or torture could ever turn him. That was a trait all of the Geneiryodan had, but Ubo's approach was simplistic and straightforward – like the way a child would believe in his parents, or look at the world only in shades of black and white.

What Nobunaga remembered most of all was the way Ubo lived his life. He made the most out of everything, and performed tasks with the exuberance and enthusiasm of a kid in front of a Christmas tree. Fighting excited him, eating delighted him, and he had never quite mastered the trick of hiding his facial expressions when playing cards.

It just wasn't fair that the last memory he had of his best friend wasn't very flattering. Ubogin had left in destructive mode – furious at the chain assassin, hands itching to crush and tear, the killing lust in his eyes even as he grinned madly at the prospect of fighting and defeating a powerful opponent. The memories Pakunoda had taken from Kurapika didn't count; they were cold and detached – the aloof unconcern of a stranger. They were also tinged with a bit of guilt and surprise. Nobunaga had felt satisfaction at the latter, pride in the fact that Ubo hadn't given in, pride in his friend for not letting the chain assassin have his way.

He would never accept the guilt, though, not even if Kurapika apologized everyday for the rest of his life. That guilt labeled him as a hypocrite – if he ended up feeling guilty for doing something he had very obviously wanted to do, then what use was there in wanting to do it?

Said hypocrite was now sitting a mere dozen paces from where Nobunaga had chosen to hold his watch, perched on a windowsill with his back to one of the window's sides.

The main reason why Nobunaga had opted to stay with the main group was to keep an eye on their newest member. He trusted Kuroro and respected his decision, but he'd be damned if he gave the blond an easy time worming his way into the group. As far as Nobunaga was concerned, Kurapika was on strict probation – and will be on probation forever if he had a say on the issue. One wrong move and Nobunaga will be hollering for his immediate dismissal. Without Dancho's endorsement he'll be just another outsider, and Nobunaga would be free to kill him and avenge Ubo's death.

The problem was, he had yet to see concrete proof showing that Kurapika was unfit to join the Geneiryodan. He had hoped to zero in on the boy's sickening righteousness and moral beliefs, but the Kuruta was turning out to be a surprisingly good follower. He carried direct orders out efficiently and effectively, performed the tasks assigned to him promptly and thoroughly. He was still a long way from being a true-blooded thief, and he hadn't been ordered to kill yet, but he was getting there. Nobunaga knew the leader's handiwork when he saw it – the manipulation had begun. By sheer routine alone, the charismatic leader of their little group would have everyone getting along by the time a month rolled around.

Already some of the other members were warming to the boy. Shalnark had told Nobunaga before that he'd take a neutral stand, despite the fact that he and Ubogin had also been close friends. He said that he wanted to see for himself, without bias or subjectivity, if the chain assassin really was a good candidate for the number eleven spot. Therefore it wasn't helping Nobunaga's crusade to kick the Kuruta out, that Shalnark was discovering within Kurapika a kindred academic mind.

Their information-gatherer had never lorded his more superior IQ over theirs, but they all knew that Shalnark secretly lamented the fact that the only people capable of having intellectual discussions with him were the laconic Kuroro and Pakunoda. And now the brunette had someone he could relate with – it was just a welcome bonus for him that he and Kurapika were both licensed Hunters with specific interests in antiques and rare objects.

Hisoka… well, the traitor was always grinning and giggling about one thing or another, and Nobunaga was sure that he would _never_ be able to understand the man. Just the other day he had happened on the clown while he was toppling another of his card pyramids, and Hisoka was crooning something about "ripe fruits" and "magnificent card castles"… Nobunaga was dead certain that Hisoka was rooting for Kurapika, even if he never showed it. He and the chain assassin were previous acquaintances, after all – and Hisoka was now forty million zenny richer because of it.

It had been a sort of a ritual that all of the members had to go through. The leader owned a book on nen concepts – it was the size of a thick paperback novel, and had roughly a thousand pages, the last time Shalnark had checked. It was also very old; the pages smelled musty and were made of some kind of ancient material that made the book itself heavier than it seemed. The text was also quite hard to read, deep and ridiculously arcane with odd inflections, and dotted periodically with bizarre diagrams and illustrations. No one knew how or why the leader carried it around with him, even during missions when they had to travel lightly. The dancho had made all of them read it, and, depending on his mood when they had finished with it, gave them pop quizzes about what they've read.

How long it had taken each of them to finish reading the damned thing had varied – Ubo had been the slowest, at two months, and Shalnark had been the fastest, at a record-breaking seven days. Nobunaga himself had taken it moderately – he had finished reading at an acceptable thirty-three days.

And while each member took his or her turn reading, the others amused themselves by placing bets to see how fast that particular member would finish.

Kurapika hadn't been spared the attention. The leader had plunked the book down in front of him a week ago, and Nobunaga had immediately and quite derisively announced that the blond would not be able to finish the whole thing within a month. Four other Geneiryodan had gleefully pounced on the chance to earn the extra income.

In retrospect, Nobunaga realized that he would have to learn not to let his emotions run off with his tongue – his claim had been the farthest from the outcome. The others' estimates, at least, had been only a few days off-target; Machi had bet on twelve days, Franklin, at ten. Phinx had decided to settle on Shalnark's record of a week… and Hisoka had shocked them all by betting on five short days.

The others had decided not to add to the already large betting pool of ten million each; they were content enough to sit back and watch what would happen. The leader, as usual, had not reacted to the ruckus he had caused.

And Kurapika, through it all, had watched calmly and only a bit bemusedly as the numbers flew back and forth. When the bets had been settled, he had looked at Nobunaga with an indignant, arrogant lift of his left brow, then promptly started on the first page of the musty old book with the air of an unruffled aristocrat.

Kurapika returned the book to Kuroro on the morning of the fifth day.

Nobunaga had to fork his ten million over to a smirking Hisoka, but his loss hadn't stopped him from swearing that Kurapika had cheated somehow; maybe he only skimmed or scanned the pages. He refused to believe that anyone could finish the accursed nen book with such inhuman speed, and remember more than a few sentences of what he'd read. What riled him even more was that the leader didn't even test Kurapika, and had accepted the bastard's word that he had read everything thoroughly.

The others didn't get mad, but they were undoubtedly impressed. Phinx had bemoaned the loss of his ten million for the first half hour, but after that he had gone back to his usual annoying reinforcement-mode self. "Watching the new guy annoy the hell out of old Nobunaga's worth ten million any day", he had declared.

Nobunaga hadn't thought it possible that someone could explode in anger, but death from high blood pressure had seemed a very real avenue to him at that moment.

As of the present, the rest of the Geneiryodan were withholding their judgment, but while they made no move to side with Kurapika, they weren't helping him, either. It was as if they'd completely forgotten that it should be another person standing in the Kuruta's place. If Feitan was there Nobunaga would at least have a supporter, but the little demon had decided to tinker with the JoyStation console he and Phinx had stolen back in York Shin, and he had disappeared into the Greed Island game three weeks ago.

Nobunaga hated it all. He hated himself for not following Ubogin when he should have. If the two of them had fought together they could have defeated the chain assassin easily. He hated Phinx and his never-ending taunts, the other Geneiryodan for their apathy. He hated Hisoka for lying, for betraying their trust, and he hated that the leader wasn't doing anything to punish the traitor. He hated Feitan for daring to imply that a videogame was more important than getting justice for Ubo… in fact, it would be safe to say that he woke up that day hating _everything_…

And the main cause of all his hatred was sitting less than five meters away. Dancho had ordered that they keep their hands off the chain assassin, so Nobunaga couldn't vent his anger. He could only glare and brood and stew in his negative emotions until he inevitably boiled over…

Of course, just watching and not doing anything wasn't sitting well with Nobunaga. He was the type that slashed first and asked questions later. Kurapika at that time was looking out the window, at the dreary network of rain-soaked streets below, and whatever he was seeing must have been amusing, because his lips were curved into a half-smile. It was just his luck that Nobunaga was feeling rather vindictive at the moment, and erroneously took the half-smile to mean that Kurapika was laughing at _him_…

Nobunaga let out an enraged bellow – almost sounding like a wounded bull seeing red, and before anyone could react and remind him that they weren't allowed to attack Kurapika, he had pulled his sword out and was lunging forward, blade aimed at the blond's head.

-- -- -- -- --

Life with the Geneiryodan wasn't turning out to be all that bad. On the contrary, for the first time in six months Kurapika found himself unwinding. He wasn't relaxing – the last thing he would want to do around any of the Geneiryodan was to relax, but he was discovering an exhilarating sense of freedom in his dubious role of prisoner / member / former enemy-turned-ally. His situation was hilarious, if anything else. Not nice, and not that pleasant, but still funny.

Half the time the other Ryodan – except perhaps Kuroro – didn't know what to do with him, so they treated him like a stray dog that had unobtrusively wandered into their midst. (Ignore, grudgingly adopt, warily guard against in case infected with rabies, or butcher and roast over an open fire for dinner?)

And the freedom? It was the exact opposite of his status because he clearly didn't want to be anywhere near the Geneiryodan – and he knew that the feeling was mutual. He knew he was being watched at all hours of the day, that he was on some kind of evaluation period that would end only if he was able to prove his worth as one of them – or the less pleasant alternative of being considered expendable if they decided that he wasn't useful after all.

His freedom came from his realizing that he didn't have to give a damn. Kurapika didn't have to worry about what the Geneiryodan thought of him. At a time when his very life hinged on whether he behaved well or not, he could let his masks go and just do whatever came to mind – his ability to perform well in just about anything he wanted to do, plus the Geneiryodan's curiosity with what he _could_ do, should insure that he left more positive than negative impressions.

Kurapika could not remember a time when he'd acted without caring what other people thought of him. Even when he was still with Gon, Leorio, and Killua. With them, he was the calm and collected walking encyclopedia. The geek of the group who helped out whenever he could, or took the lead whenever he should. With the Nostrads he was the cold and indifferent rookie bodyguard. The others certainly would never have thought that _he_ – slight in stature and easily mistaken for a girl – would replace Darshioni as head bodyguard when they'd first laid eyes on him. In one way or another he'd always had masks on, and acted to fit the situation, acted the way people around him expected him to act.

But right now Kurapika was with people he wouldn't exactly call his friends. He could care less if _they_ thought less of him – well actually he preferred that none of the Geneiryodan thought him weak in any way… The point was that here, with them, he didn't have any expectations to live up to. Who cares with reputations when his very life was on the line?

There was a wildcard in Kurapika's equations, though. Kuroro Lucifer. If there was a person he needed to have on his side, Kuroro was probably that person. Kurapika could see that what the dark-haired man said and wanted pretty much went as laws in the Geneiryodan rulebook – if there was one – and "the dancho" was most likely the only reason why he was still being tolerated and kept alive. That's good for him, of course.

What's bad is the fact that Kuroro Lucifer was the most unpredictable person Kurapika had ever met.

The man was looking out for him. Not looking out as in protecting him per se, but Kuroro was paying attention to him, more than what Kurapika had expected.

They talked. Daily. The topics were usually safe so their conversations were more or less civil. Kurapika had thought that he should make himself scarce, so it was always Kuroro who approached and spoke first. Of course, it had felt awkward at the beginning, Kuroro's questions seemed too routine and obligatory, more small talk than anything else – then he started asking for Kurapika's opinions about random topics, which ranged from nen to history to current politics and economics. Kurapika soon found himself looking forward to these conversations – it wasn't like he had anything else to do, anyway. He'd also realized early on that it wouldn't help him to act difficult on purpose, just cause more headaches for everyone involved.

After all, there were times that playing the quiet, cooperating captive helped the victim escape sooner and easier than if he had resisted or defied…

Sometimes Kuroro told him to do things using his abilities (heal this scratch, take down that far wall with your Dowsing Chain, without turning around tell me exactly where and how far Hisoka is seated) – little tasks that felt like assessments or diagnostic exercises. Naturally Kurapika completed them all without effort, and while he was correct in thinking that Kuroro was testing his abilities, he had no way of knowing that the Geneiryodan head was already trying to train him.

In the past three weeks they had raided two more mansions, and had regained another pair of his clan's Eyes. They weren't able to find the second pair, and further questioning had revealed that the owner had sold it. Well, they had three pairs at hand now, which was definitely more than what Kurapika could have accomplished by himself, and Kuroro told him that they still had three more estates to visit before reaching Shooting Star City.

Kurapika would rather die than admit it to any of the Geneiryodan, but breaking and entering and stealing wasn't weighing his conscience down as much as he thought it would. In all fairness Kuroro tried to keep casualties to a minimum. The other members weren't going out of their way to look for victims, only killing those unfortunate enough to happen upon them while they were doing the deed, and only when it was absolutely unavoidable. Their main targets were the Scarlet Eyes, but that didn't stop the Ryodan from lifting whatever was handy – hard cash, jewelry, priceless collections and artifacts… and Kurapika stopped worrying about the misfortune he was helping to bring about once Kuroro had confirmed that they were robbing members of the amorphous organization directly responsible for his clan's massacre.

One of the many things Kurapika was learning about the Geneiryodan was that they usually paired off for missions, and his luck (or lack of, because he couldn't tell if it was good or bad just yet) had him partnered with the leader. For now it was probably a good thing, because he had to stay with Kuroro if he didn't want to be killed by the Judgment Chain. And if he absolutely had to be partnered with someone, he would choose to be with the leader – Kurapika had enough empathy to want to avoid the awkwardness and/or hostility he would surely feel if he got paired with any other member.

Yes, he was starting to feel comfortable around Kuroro (maybe even like him a teeny tiny bit), and to shut his snide inner voice up Kurapika reasoned that he was just choosing the least out of all the evils around him – he didn't have a choice, the options fate was handing him were limited.

Being around Kuroro so much was also giving Kurapika the chance to observe how he moved and thought, an opportunity to look for holes or weaknesses in his defense. He had been quietly observing and watching the past three weeks, and it irked him to say that Kuroro Lucifer had none.

The man saw everything, missed nothing, seemed to have a solution for any problem circumstance threw at him and had contingency plans for just about anything, could control the heterogeneous mix of personalities that made up the Geneiryodan as effortlessly as Buhara polishing off a few dozen great stump boars… He truly deserved the name of Dancho – the Leader, and then some; just like the fallen angel he was named after Kuroro possessed some kind of unholy charm he could use at will like a light switch. Kurapika had witnessed him employ it thrice, on three different groups of house helps in the two mansions they had visited, dazzling and confusing the poor maids into thinking that "tall, dark and handsome and his equally adorable companion" were important guests of the house's masters. Kurapika appreciated the fact that Kuroro just sent them on their way – giggling and gossiping, certainly none the worse for wear – instead of getting rid of them the way any stereotypical infiltrator would, but why is it that he always came off feeling that the maids were giggling and blushing at something else other than Kuroro's antics?

Inner Kurapika agreed vehemently, adding the protest that there was nothing adorable about the way he pouted or sulked.

_Of course, with that so-called charm and wit of his the bastard could have easily gotten better accommodations if he really wanted to…_ Kurapika thought sourly, looking around at the drab gray ballroom walls of the abandoned hotel his guards had chosen to hole up in for the day.

Another thing Kurapika noticed about the Geneiryodan was that they were extremely fond of hiding out in abandoned buildings. Old warehouses, dilapidated factories, unfinished construction sites, boarded-up stores – some dry, some dank, all dreary and smelling like they haven't been inhabited in decades. Kurapika didn't mind the dust, but the cobwebs with their eight-legged monstrosities were another matter entirely.

What he had told his friends during the Hunter exam about losing control at the mere sight of a spider on the floor was actually an exaggeration. He could control himself well enough – the anger he'd feel at seeing a likeliness of the Phantom Brigade's mascot might make him mad enough to trigger the Eyes for a couple of seconds, but that was all. Said control was getting harder and harder to maintain these past days, which wasn't surprising, given his traveling companions, and the fact that without humans to disturb their abodes the spiders they had been coming across had grown as big as small dinner plates.

Kurapika had no choice but to try to ignore the insects as best as he could, really. If Nobunaga – whose hatred for him seemed to know no bounds – or Phinx – who would gleefully pounce on the chance to make things "more interesting" – found out about his aversion to arachnids he'd never hear the end of it. Fortunately, finding cobweb-free corners had been relatively easy – he had chosen one of the open windows that day for that particular reason. Wind and rain must have discouraged any of the creatures from building their snares right across the window's wooden frame.

It was raining now, a light, steady drizzle pouring from an overcast sky – very much like the weather had been back in York Shin when he had been caught. A cool breeze blew, bringing the scent of freshly watered earth and concrete with it. Kurapika closed his eyes and just savored the feeling of wind blowing through his hair, the occasional ice-cold droplet carried in by the air – an overhang from the next floor protected him from getting soaking wet. The hotel ballroom was on a high enough level that he could see out and over smaller buildings, and look up and see nothing but clouds and falling rain. If he closed his eyes he could even pretend that he was alone and free…

But when he opened them he could see everything around him, and was reminded of the stinging reality that he was _that_ close to the people and the reason he'd decided to become a blacklist hunter in the first place, but he couldn't hunt them, couldn't arrest them for the crimes they had perpetrated, let alone hurt or kill any of them. Kurapika wasn't going to fool himself; without the element of surprise on his side he won't be defeating any more Geneiryodan like he had done with the first one. They were all capable of taking him down – not effortlessly, of course, but compared to them he severely lacked experience in manipulating his aura efficiently.

What he had gotten from his master was a crash course – the basics, plus whatever else could be crammed into the lessons that would help in making him as powerful as possible within the shortest amount of time. York Shin was supposed to be a blitzkrieg operation for him, hard and fast, with no time to consider the finer points of nen fighting. The training got him nowhere, though, he'd been stupid enough to drop his guards at the most critical of times, and he was now paying for his mistake.

Yes, life with the Geneiryodan wasn't all that bad, but his situation was far from being a laughing matter. Kurapika had plenty of thoughts to brood over, memories he wanted to chuck out of the proverbial window, and eleven very real, very alert, very dangerous reasons to sink into the pot of depression, which was why he tried to smile at least once a day to prevent himself from getting clinically depressed, but only when he was sure that no one could see his face – although there were a few times that his quirked lips drew confused glances and wary looks from the Geneiryodan watching him.

The object of today's amusement was desperately hanging from a water pipe running the length of his window and down to the pavement below. A spider had foolishly built its web in the space between pipe and wall; the rain was destroying the delicate construct of fine-spun silk. Kurapika had felt pity at first, the thing was small compared to those he'd seen inside the building, probably still a juvenile – but then he suddenly remembered a nursery rhyme from his childhood, the one about a spider in a water spout, and he felt the ironic hilarity in seeing something he hated so easily defeated by something as light and as inconsequential as a raindrop.

The memory brought a nostalgic smile to his face – then an enraged bellow brought his thoughts crashing back down to the present.

It sounded like Nobunaga… The blur hurtling towards him _looked_ like Nobunaga. Kurapika's eyes widened as he took in the sword and the crazed snarl etched on the samurai's face, and he threw himself away from the window, rolling and coming to a defensive crouch just as the deadly blade sank into the wood, right where his head had been.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Kurapika bit out, hackles bristling and arms instinctively rising to defend – or attack. Given the chance to fight back and let all his nervous energy loose – _He attacked first!_ – it was all he could do to keep his chains from materializing. His nen felt tight, his eyes practically itched, but he had enough presence of mind left to remember that he wasn't supposed to attack any of the Geneiryodan.

Unfortunately, the other side wasn't being as reasonable. Nobunaga yanked his sword out from the windowpane and faced him. "Doing what should have been done when Dancho brought you back. I'm going to kill you!"

Kurapika had to suppress the undignified string of expletives that threatened to take over his vocal facilities as he jumped out of the way of yet another would-have-been lethal lunge. A quick glance around showed him that the other Geneiryodan weren't moving to restrain their overeager comrade – but they seemed to have stopped whatever they were doing, and were now watching the proceedings interestedly. _Bloody bastards!_ Shalnark and Pakunoda, at the very least, had the grace to look worried; the others had expressions on that reminded Kurapika of bored lions whose curiosity have been peaked by some intriguing new sport.

So none of the Geneiryodan wanted to interfere. He would just have to keep jumping and dodging even when all he wanted to do was to bash Nobunaga's brains in… the samurai will eventually run out of batteries, come to his senses, and hopefully leave him alone – or _he'll_ tire, screw up, and find himself skewered on a sword blade. Obviously, Kurapika preferred the first alternative, but Nobunaga seemed angry enough to want to keep the chase up for far longer than just a few minutes…

Kurapika's undoing nearly came after an exceptionally acrobatic maneuver that had him landing on a sheet-covered table – and tables weren't meant to be stood on, much less contraptions that had been unused for God knows how many years. One of its legs broke under the sudden strain, the level surface teetered, and Kurapika struggled to regain his balance. Nobunaga was quick to seize the advantage, rushing forward with a triumphant cry.

Kurapika sensed more than saw his attacker advancing, and he knew that he didn't have the time or the leverage to jump out of the way. Reflex finally kicked in and his chains appeared, but instinct made him squeeze his eyes shut, and he braced himself for the pain…

… Which never came. He felt a peculiar jolt, similar to how his stomach would seem to move when he rode an elevator, only sideways. It was uncomfortable, but certainly not painful, not what a sword stab would feel like –

"Not again! Dancho! _Why_ are you protecting him!"

Kurapika opened his eyes, and nearly started at the sudden shift in scenery. It took him a few moments to orient himself and realize that he had somehow moved to the other side of the room, more than a dozen meters away from the still-fuming Nobunaga, and a seated Kuroro Lucifer between them. The Geneiryodan leader was holding an open book in his right hand, and Kurapika had the barest glimpse of a woman's hawk-eyed glare before Kuroro snapped it shut. The whole thing faded from view right after.

Kuroro didn't bother moving from his cross-legged, straight-backed posture on the sheet-covered chair, but his voice was steely and frigidly authoritative – he projected an unbelievably imposing air.

"Stand down, Nobunaga."

The samurai was either foolishly brave or too angry to listen to reason – he didn't obey, instead stalking forward and stopping to stare down at his leader.

"Please answer my question, Dancho. _Why_ did you stop me?"

"For the last time, Nobunaga, stand down and leave him alone."

"NO I WON'T! I won't forget about Ubogin," Nobunaga, spitting mad, now pointed a shaking finger at Kurapika. "I won't forget that he's the enemy! I'll leave the group if I have to, but I'll kill him if it's the last thing I do!"

"Listen to yourself," Kuroro commanded sternly. "You are letting your emotions control your mouth and your actions."

"But –"

"I could order him to fight you; that would counter the 'no attacking' clause; but if you fought him in your state right now you will lose."

"What! Are you telling me that this brat –"

"And now you're forgetting that this 'brat' defeated Ubogin. Nevermind that you already know what to watch out for – since you're letting your anger cloud your mind, Kurapika can easily outsmart you. I've half a mind letting him do that, if it means knocking some sense into that thick skull of yours!"

Kurapika – and almost all the other Geneiryodan – gaped as Kuroro berated Nobunaga like a sharp-tongued mother scolding a wayward son. The effect was instantaneous; Nobunaga had turned beet-red and was sputtering wordlessly, unable to interrupt or voice his protests. Finally, he clammed up, turned around, and stiffly walked to a corner, where he sat down and sulked, glaring at anyone who looked at him for the next few hours.

"Thank you!" Kurapika muttered, a bit sarcastically, and loud enough for only Kuroro to hear. Since the leader's back faced him he didn't see Kuroro raising an eyebrow in surprise, or his lips twitching into a small smile. What he did see was an almost imperceptible nod, which he correctly took as both acknowledgement and dismissal, so he started to make his way back to his window, carefully skirting the watching Geneiryodan along the way.

"Ne, Dancho, can _I_ fight him?"

_Oh, hell no._ That was Hisoka's voice. Kurapika resisted the urge to bang his head against something hard. Hisoka had been ignoring everything around him up until now – even the tantrum Nobunaga had thrown. Kurapika _did not_ want to fight the pervert – Hisoka had the most screwed-up mind he knew, but considering what he knew about the uneasy truce between the magician and the rest of the Ryodan, Kuroro will probably agree to the request…

"Fine. But try not to kill each other."

Kurapika sent his best I-hate-you glare at Kuroro, who shrugged the venomous look off easily and gave an amused smirk as a reply.

Truthfully, while he balked at the idea of sparring with Hisoka, a part of him wanted to see how well he could do against the magician, now that he knew nen. The last time they'd crossed swords (and cards) had been during the Hunter Exam. Kurapika didn't know nen then.

The Geneiryodan probably knew about his reservations. But Kurapika felt that Kuroro also knew how badly he wished for a chance to shut Nobunaga up – this chance was as good as any.

"Consider this your pop quiz. If you understood the book I lent you you'll do fine."

It was both encouragement and light threat. Kurapika could hardly hide his disbelief at being encouraged by the Geneiryodan head, but at the same time he felt indignant anger boiling over. He took pride in knowing that he was a fast and thorough reader, and didn't like the insinuation that he'd given the blasted book just a cursory glance to have finished in such a short time.

"You could have just quizzed me on your stupid book, you know." Kurapika hissed at Kuroro as he walked to the middle of the ballroom – the only part of the room relatively free of clutter and obstacles. Hisoka was heading for the middle as well, snaking his way through and over chairs and heaped tables.

_Sneaky, manipulative bastard._

Kurapika wouldn't put it past Kuroro Lucifer to test his abilities by pitting him against an opponent he loathed to face. He made a mental note to give "the dancho" holy hell – as far as the Judgment Chain allowed him to – the next time they were partnered for another mansion-raiding mission.

And Kuroro was still smirking.

_Sneaky, manipulative, good-looking basta–_

…

He wasn't schizophrenic, only slightly manic-depressive, the last time he'd checked, but Kurapika could have sworn that the emphatic yell of denial he could hear echoing around his head sounded like his own voice…

-- -- -- -- --

The magician was wearing a steady little smile as he approached Kurapika; Kuroro had never understood how he could manage to look calm and unsettlingly psychotic at the same time. The chain assassin, in contrast, was frowning down at the floor. He looked confused and lost, but Kuroro could tell that the young man was thinking furiously.

_I know. I could have quizzed you, but it's more fun this way._ Kuroro was already looking forward to seeing the fight he knew Kurapika would show them. If the Kuruta could successfully defend himself against Hisoka's attacks, his chances of winning positive assessments from the other Ryodan would increase significantly. Despite Kuroro's warnings about confronting Hisoka, the news of the magician's betrayal wasn't sitting well with the other members. Nobunaga, in particular, never let a day pass without attempting to gain his permission to kill Hisoka.

Unfortunately, they all knew Hisoka's strength. Not an exact measure or a complete accounting of all his techniques, but all the members knew, more or less, that Hisoka was not an opponent to be taken lightly. Kurapika will most probably lose. The others were apparently drawing the same conclusion – he could hear the betting pool swinging into their usual raucous arguments, but they weren't betting on who would win; all the bets were on how long it would take for Hisoka to beat Kurapika.

Kuroro stood up and looked ponderously at Kurapika's tense figure. His tight expression suggested that he'd heard the betting, and that he wasn't very pleased with what was being said.

Since when did Geneiryodan opinion matter to the chain assassin? _Since now._ Kuroro had thought that rote, habitual action would slowly wear away at the blond's resistance, and it seemed that his assumption was being proven right. His instincts were rarely wrong. And his instincts were now telling him that the outcome of the upcoming fight would not be as predictable as his subordinates were claiming it to be.

"A tie."

He had never had difficulty catching the attention of the other Geneiryodan whenever he needed to speak to them, but the speed with which they now quieted down surprised him.

"What?"

Kuroro sighed inwardly. Phinx was looking at him like he'd grown a second head, and the others were all blinking uncomprehendingly. Granted, it had been a long time since he'd last gambled with the other Ryodan, but was it really that shocking to hear him supporting a newcomer?

Not if it were anyone else other than Kurapika, maybe.

"I'd like to place a bet," Kuroro enunciated carefully. "I think their fight will end in a draw."

"Are you sure, Dancho?" Shalnark was the first to recover from his speechlessness. "We know that he's quite powerful, but against Hisoka –"

"He won't win," Kuroro agreed. "But he won't lose, either."

From where he stood Kuroro could see Kurapika's face smoothing into a blank mask. The light in his blue eyes was determined, though, like he'd decided on something. Kurapika's hands were relaxed at his sides, and were bare of steel links. _He isn't going to use his chains?_

A quick check with _gyou_ told Kuroro that the blond was gathering large amounts of nen around his hands, but he wasn't doing anything with it. It just… sat there, violet threads swirling calmly, held in check by Kurapika's will. There was more than enough to materialize the five rings, the chain links, and the chain bracelet to encircle Kurapika's thin wrist – then Kuroro wondered if Kurapika was going to attempt to materialize _two_ sets in mid-battle, one for each hand.

_Can't possibly be preparation for a _kou_ attack…_

Hisoka attacked first, without warning and with his usual explosive speed, arms windmilling bizarrely as he flung card after nen-enhanced card at Kurapika. The young man responded by dodging, easily dancing out of the way of each razor-sharp rectangle thwacking into cured wood and marble as easily as a knife sinking into softened butter. To the normal eye it seemed like one blur of color was chasing the other, zipping around the stationary figures of the watching Geneiryodan and jumping over piles of scattered debris, but the watchers' trained eyesight could follow the fighters without difficulty.

Hisoka switched tactics when he realized that not one of his cards had found his target. His right arm changed aim, and the line of cards throwing up puffs of dust as they impaled themselves into whatever was handy split into two, drawing in from opposite directions towards Kurapika, who looked up and saw the second line of paper projectiles headed his way.

This time it was Kurapika who changed directions, lunging up and away to the side in a hard ninety-degree angle. Kuroro was slightly surprised to see the boy performing a twist and a half somersault in mid-air, coming to land on his feet against the far wall. _Just like a cat…_ It was possible that the Kuruta's flexibility rivaled even that of Feitan's – though no one was about to tell their speed specialist about that particular observation.

If Hisoka was discouraged by his quarry's swiftness, he didn't show it. Conversely, seeing Kurapika run away from his attacks seemed to make him even _more_ persistent – he speeded up while Kurapika was doing his mid-air maneuvers, and actually reached the blond a split-second after he landed, both hands up and each wielding a card sharper than any man-made blade. Kurapika didn't even have time to decide to dodge, and from what Kuroro knew – hadn't done enough drills or training to have conditioned himself to put a _ken_ shield up by reflex

What he did instead, though, was infinitely more surprising. Kuroro finally got the answer to his earlier question of what Kurapika planned to do with the nen he'd formed around his hands – two long objects appeared out of thin air, solidifying just in time to meet Hisoka's cards head-on. Kurapika already had his hands up in front of his chest; he needed only to grip the swords' hilts as they formed within the circles of his slightly curled fingers.

Kurapika had materialized a pair of kan – shorter than a samurai katana but longer than the wakizashi that traditionally accompanied it. Kuroro had never heard of a person successfully materializing an unfamiliar object in mid-battle; Kurapika had worked extensively with a pair of twin blades up until he discovered his nen, but Kuroro knew that the blond had only done the exhaustive image training with chains.

It should be impossible for him to create usable swords, let alone create them so quickly and completely; but the metal was holding up quite well. And Kurapika wasn't being pushed back by what Kuroro could assume was Hisoka's full strength.

It was a typical deadlock; neither side wanted to give way. For a few long seconds the combatants strained against each other, trying to force each other into submission – then Kurapika's blue eyes flashed into blood-red brilliance, and Hisoka had to skip back as the kan tore through his nen-enhanced cards.

Kurapika didn't stop at that; he chucked one of his swords at Hisoka, who jumped up to avoid from getting pinned by the blade. Then Kurapika threw his second sword, which Hisoka also evaded effortlessly by pivoting in mid-air. One thing they all knew about Hisoka was that he was an accomplished contortionist; the positions he could bend his body into were so unthinkable they were almost obscene.

But no matter how flexible Hisoka was, such an awkward position offered a limited range of movements, which must be precisely what Kurapika wanted. A burst of speed added to his dash and jump placed him right beside Hisoka as the magician, obeying the laws of gravity like any obedient mass, fell back to the floor.

In contrast, Kurapika seemed to defy the aforementioned fundamental laws, executing a perfect roundhouse kick as if he were on solid ground. Hisoka blocked, then grabbed the foot that had threatened to smash his face in. He did the same with Kurapika's follow-up kick – and found himself holding his opponent upside-down by the feet.

The tide of the battle now belonged to Hisoka – that is, if his precarious hold lasts long enough for him to deliver his own attack. But Kurapika refused to miss a beat; he crossed his arms tightly so that each hand nearly touched an opposite shoulder, then materialized yet _another_ set of kan – which he swung upwards, towards his feet and at Hisoka's hands, at the same time, in opposite directions, forming a makeshift scissor to sever Hisoka's forearms from the rest of his body.

Hisoka let go right before his hands could be cleaved off, and the kan disappeared, leaving Kurapika free to perform a handspring to right himself and avoid landing headfirst after Hisoka released him.

The entire thing had happened in less than a minute.

"Whoa. He's quite fast," Shizuku observed. Kuroro didn't respond; the girl was referring to Kurapika, and he'd already guessed as much about the blond's capabilities.

"This isn't Hisoka's real speed, though," Machi said. "I've seen him go faster than that."

"What, singing a different tune now, Machi?" Shalnark teased. "I thought you hated Hisoka."

The girl shot a withering glare at the brunette before calmly bringing a hand up to fiddle with her hair. "Five more minutes," she declared confidently. "The chain assassin might be fast, but I doubt Hisoka would let it last longer than that."

"You're being awfully quiet, Phinx," Franklin remarked. The man in question blinked in surprise as the group's attention shifted to him.

"Yeah. You're not thinking of pulling out, are you? No offense meant, but the thoughtful look doesn't suit you."

Phinx frowned at the blatant dig, but refused to rise to the bait. " 'Course not. Just that, when Hisoka had the kid up by his feet – it reminded me of this stunt the Zaoldyeck brat pulled the first time we caught him and the other one… He," Phinx jerked a thumb at Kurapika, "didn't get his tendons nearly ripped out, though."

"It's starting," Pakunoda interrupted. The others quieted immediately; they had all felt the sudden change in Hisoka's nen.

"This is one of the main reasons why I don't want to fight him," Kuroro muttered in a barely audible undertone. The other members glanced at him in surprise, but he had already returned his full attention to the fight unfolding in front of them.

-- -- -- -- --

Hisoka straightened from the semi-crouched position he had landed in, and slowly brought his left hand up, where one of Kurapika's conjured kan was able to carve an angry line of red right across the palm.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," the magician murmured, and Kurapika raised his alertness up yet another notch as he watched the clownish grin morph into a decidedly disturbing provocative leer.

_Better overly paranoid than being assaulted by a pervert…_ His paranoia was probably unnecessary, but given that the pervert in question _was_ Hisoka, Kurapika felt that he shouldn't try to tempt fate.

Of course, the fact that he'd thought it mere seconds before Hisoka proceeded to prove his suspicions right only served to distress him further, and Kurapika tried to stop the violent shudder that ran from his toes to the tips of his hair as Hisoka started to chuckle, a low, malicious _hm-hm-hm_ sound, complete with the slight shoulder shake. He was also running his tongue over his upper lip slowly, like he'd spotted something delectable… and he was performing the most horrifying set of stretching exercises Kurapika had ever seen.

Hisoka had clasped his hands together behind his back, stretched both arms straight out, and was moving them around in a triangle – extreme right, straight up, extreme left, and all over again.

And his nen… Kurapika didn't need _gyou_ for confirmation. Hisoka's aura was flaring, pulsing wildly – and most of the fluctuations were centered around the other man's groin.

Kurapika seriously considered screaming, "Get the hell away from me!" and running out into the street, Judgment Chain and conditions be damned. But then he realized that losing it would obviously be most undignified, never mind that hysteria was a reasonable reaction to being molested. Hot on the heels of that realization was the vague thought that none of the betting Geneiryodan would win if he backed out right then.

That was one of his original objectives, actually. Make sure that none of the bettors won, but by winning, not by chickening out a couple of minutes into their fight. Considering how much he was getting repulsed by Hisoka's aura, though, Kurapika was having second thoughts about whether or not he would be able to defeat his opponent.

_Calm down_, the same inner voice that had protested against his earlier "sneaky, manipulative, good-looking bastard" thought commanded. _It's not like you're losing._ To echo Hisoka's statement, he was doing quite well. The magician might break his kan, but he could just materialize them again. He knew nen now. And he could use his Eyes at will, for longer periods this time, to a far greater extent than last time.

And he'd wounded Hisoka the last time, hadn't he? Considering how briefly he'd used his Eyes during the Hunter Exam, he'd still done the supposedly impossible – inflict something remotely resembling damage on the psycho.

Had Kurapika been less leery of his opponent he would have been more inclined to come up with some kind of strategy, but right now all he wanted to do was turn the Scarlet Eyes up full-blast and beat Hisoka to a pulp before the other man got to him. Kurapika was confident that he could take the magician by surprise if he timed it right; after all, Hisoka had never actually _seen_ him using his _tokushitsu_ skill. Nevertheless, he'd have felt better if there was something more solid than rotting chairs and tables between him and the pervert…

So Kurapika wasn't the least bit surprised that Hisoka just bowled over the pieces of furniture unfortunate enough to stand in his way when he charged; with the copious amounts of malicious nen coating his body the appliances actually splintered as they were knocked over, as if some vestige of the once-living wood was reacting to Hisoka's vile touch.

Kurapika wasn't surprised by the attack itself, but Hisoka charging towards him was honestly one of the scariest things he had ever seen in his entire life – well, next to seeing Leorio come out of the bathroom stark naked. The fright was enough to make him lose his focus, and he froze for just a second before reacting and jumping away, but that second was all it took for Hisoka to get up-close-and-personal, actually sticking his grinning mug an inch from Kurapika's startled face.

Instinct and reflex wanted him to continue to run, but he forced himself to turn around, hold his ground, and match Hisoka's attacks, countering lightning-fast blows with sturdy blocks and putting in quick and hard punches of his own whenever he spotted openings.

In that brief moment Kurapika stopped thinking… he stopped trying to factor his surroundings into the fight, stopped his worrying over Hisoka's yet-unknown nen abilities, stopped thinking about his chances of walking away with his dignity still intact and just – moved, reveling in the way his body reacted without much conscious thought. Through the Scarlet Eyes everything was fuzzily red and yet starkly clear; it was a damn oxymoron and it made him wonder yet again if he'd fallen into some kind of sadistic dream.

A vicious _yank_ brought him crashing back to reality… and Kurapika realized that he didn't have to be asleep to experience a nightmare.

--- end of chapter eleven ---

notes:

Nothing much to say, except a sincere sorry for the ridiculously long wait, and thank you for being patient, for the continued support and encouragement. Additional apologies if everyone was expecting personal replies to reviews – I've been wringing myself dry trying to describe the Hisoka – Kurapika fight scene as accurately as possible (compared to the mental video I've been developing in my mind since last year), and I'm not sure if I have anything left to do the acknowledgements with. Plus, admin says that chat or keyboard dialogue within chapters isn't allowed. Does that include reviewer replies? 'Cause I wrote really long reviewer replies in the past chapters. I hope someone can warn me if I'm already breaking site rules so I can edit the chapters and keep the fic from getting deleted.

BTW, if you don't hear from me for a long while, please check my profile page. I post status updates and reports there at least once every 3 weeks. I don't like uploading new chapters just for notices; I know very well the disappointment in realizing that the long-awaited update is actually just a note saying that the new chapter won't be out for an n number of days or weeks.

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Authors of some fics I revisited have started to take down review replies, so just to be on the safe side, I've decided to edit the chapters with the longer author's notes. I've removed the less important notes, I'm deleting the replies, and I'll have to stop myself from replying at the end of each chapter. That way the administrators won't have an excuse to ban my fic from the site. I'm really sorry if that would come out as rude to those of you with questions, but I don't have any other choice. If you still want to contact me, though, e-mail, buzz me on Yahoo Messenger, or leave a note on my LiveJournal account. My Yahoo ID is cloud121383, and my LJ account name is kye underscore kestrel (underscore, as in the symbol underscore). I hope that this doesn't discourage anyone from reviewing... I love reviews, and I still get high whenever I read each new review. I would like to express my undying gratitude to everyone who has taken the time to read my fic, and give an extra word of thanks to those who've supported me since I started posting here... You know who you are. :)

July 19, 2004

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Last edited on March 23, 2005


	12. What Lies Beneath

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this chapter takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Hisoka's challenge draws to a surprising end, and Kuroro thinks some more about the impact Kurapika is making in the lives of the Geneiryodan.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing, and a teeny bit of violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** My profound thanks go to my beta-reader, Mistress 259, who did a wonderful job spotting my errors, and Yukitsu, who reviewed the chapter draft and gave comments that led me to resolving a few plot issues. Both of them helped me greatly whenever I got stuck. Oh, the chapter title is Mistress 259's suggestion, too.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 12 – What Lies Beneath

Hisoka was having the time of his life. He was doing what he liked best, and he was looking at one of his favorite things in the world. He was fighting, and he could see the blood he was painstakingly drawing out of his enemy.

Yes, he had to be careful. Methodical, like a surgeon's cutting incisions, and precise, like the steady brushstrokes of a master painter. No sense in damaging his opponent's cherubic face. He'd been directing all of his attacks to his target's torso area, and he'd deliberately weakened his punches to cause pain and internal bleeding, but no immediate danger to life and limb.

If it were any other opponent Hisoka wouldn't have cared if he damaged the facial area – in fact, it was usually the first thing he went for in an attack. The structure of the human face is delicate, and he knew lots of ways to make an enemy bleed just by attacking the face. He could crush a nose, slice up the cheeks, gouge the eyeballs out, or punch the mouth to split the lip and shatter the teeth; and if he was in a particularly bloodthirsty mood, he'd do all of the above, and then step on the skull and smear his victim's brains all over the floor.

But Kurapika… Kurapika was different. Special. The Kuruta was beautiful, even more so in his current distressed state. And those eyes – ah, those lovely red eyes! He'd seen the famed Scarlet Eyes four times before in the past, but all four times had passed too briefly for his liking.

The first two times had happened in the final test of the Hunter Exam, once when Kurapika had used them in a fit of rage – the consequent boost to the blond's abilities had allowed him to catch and return one of Hisoka's nen-enhanced cards, a feat very rarely managed – and the second after Hisoka had whispered information about the Geneiryodan into the Kuruta's ear. Hisoka had wanted to stay and watch Kurapika's red eyes widen in shock and anger, but he had to maintain his cool image and walk away like his forfeit didn't matter. It hadn't, of course, and the chance to confirm his initial suspicions about the Hunter applicant being a surviving Kuruta had been worth the time and energy he'd wasted in giving his match away.

It was just too bad that he'd joined the Geneiryodan a year late; he would have given anything for the chance to be part of the Kuruta massacre. If Kurapika was any indication the tribe must be full of strong warriors and fighters – his blood always stirred in excitement, then roiled in disappointment and loss, whenever he thought of how much fun he would have had if he'd already been a member at that time. Unfortunately he'd been halfway around the world then, just starting to earn his reputation as a ruthless killer in the underground fighting circles.

And of course, there were the Scarlet Eyes. Their shade of red was one of the most beautiful colors in existence, and they're among the most sought-after artifacts in the anthropological world. A single pair could fetch up to billions of zennies in auctions, and there were only thirty-six pairs accounted for – excluding Kurapika's. Their rarity made them all the more desirable among collectors in aristocratic circles, although most didn't just seek them for the money or the bragging rights. There really were sick maniacs who liked collecting body parts, and Hisoka himself happened to be partial to the Kuruta eyeballs. He loved seeing blood – so it stood to reason that he would like looking at the intense anger-fueled gaze of a Kuruta.

In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that had he been present at the Kuruta massacre, he would have carted off a couple of the eyeball pairs for himself. Now he could only get his own pair through lame business deals or the usual underground auction – but that would be too boring. Too… clean, too clinical. The experience would be so much sweeter if he could personally make the kill, and then gather the precious orbs with his own two hands.

But that treatment just wouldn't do for the last Kuruta alive. No, Hisoka had decided long ago that he wouldn't kill the boy. At least, not while he was still proving to be such an interesting source of entertainment. Hisoka wanted to wait, just like what he was doing with the Freecs child, and bide his time while Kurapika grew stronger. And being able to catch the blond using his Eyes along the way was just a very welcome bonus.

The third and fourth times he'd seen Kurapika using his Eyes had been nothing short of spectacular. Hisoka knew anger like the back of his own hand – a lot of the people who went after him used anger to fuel their (often useless) attacks against him, but the emotion was always tainted by fear – fear of failure and fear of death. He had never seen pure, reckless fury before Kurapika displayed it in the York Shin warehouse a month ago. The visible rage didn't last because the blond had to suppress it when he made the deal with Kuroro, but enough remained for Kurapika to maintain his Scarlet Eyes.

And maintain it he did, Hisoka found out later, from the attack on Zenji all the way until the separate groups reunited at the mansion vault. From what little research he had done on the Kuruta, Hisoka knew that the crimson-eyed state could not be maintained for long without consequences; but at that time he had been too busy lapping up the exquisite expressions of pain and exhaustion in Kurapika's eyes to care for the boy's well-being. Plus, that particular set of emotions had never failed to excite him… with the hard-on he had it was a wonder that he'd been able to do his share of hauling and crating, let alone manage to walk straight.

Informing Kurapika about the York Shin mission had been the right choice. Granted, things had turned out differently from what the two of them had initially planned – Kurapika had gotten himself captured by Kuroro, and Hisoka could feel that his days as a Geneiryodan member were numbered. It would probably be best for him to disappear quietly before the others confronted him about his betrayal, but where was the fun in running away? They were tolerating him, maybe for as long as he behaved, so Hisoka decided that he'd hang around for a while, until a new target presented itself, or he tired of watching Nobunaga fail miserably at exacting revenge for the dearly departed Ubogin.

And who knows? Maybe he'd still find a chance to confront his initial target alone – not very likely, since the other members had decided that Kurapika needed to be watched over twenty-four/seven, which also placed Kuroro under their careful scrutiny, but Hisoka was not known to be a quitter. Lucifer's guard will fall sooner or later, and he intended to be there when it did.

In the meantime, though, the magician was content to settle for the next best thing around – the little blond Kuruta who was presently reacting quite deliciously to his continued barrage of Bungee Gum-initiated attacks.

Hisoka could see that Kurapika was getting desperate; the boy had dropped his calm front and was now reacting purely out of instinct and reflex. His attacks were getting easier to predict, but faster and stronger by the second – fueled by some sort of panicked strength, Hisoka supposed. Already he'd received a number of painful hits, like that full-knuckled roundhouse to his jaw, and the half dozen sharp jabs to the ribs he'd failed to intercept because he had been too busy blocking a vicious toe kick to the family jewels.

No matter. He'd made sure to put more force behind his retaliatory punches – a couple of cracked ribs should slow down Kurapika's reaction time considerably. Not that the boy's reflexes had been quick enough to counter Hisoka's Bungee Gum technique efficiently even before the injury was inflicted.

Sure, his main technique had a funny name, and had originated from an even more dubious source, but the childish moniker only served to hide the true extent of his nen's capabilities. Hisoka was able to shape his aura into a semisolid string-like substance, hold on to one end and attach the other to any kind of surface, then expand and contract the string whenever he wanted to – just like chewing gum. He could connect his opponent to an infinite number of objects with his Gum, and then during strategic points in their fight contract the Gum and cause the attached objects to smash into the unsuspecting victim with devastating force. He could also use his nen as if it were a chain and bind his enemy's movements to a certain area.

But by far his favorite usage for the Gum was to use it to pull his opponent towards him – minus the yanking movement, since he could control it freely without having to lift a finger. And since nen was normally invisible, whoever had the misfortune of falling prey to his technique always lost, because they couldn't see what was making them fly right into Hisoka's waiting arms. Even those who still retained the sense to use _gyou_ to look for whatever was pulling them eventually panicked and hastened their defeat, because Hisoka's Bungee Gum could not be cut using normal means.

Gon Freecs was probably the only person who was able to stay alive and relatively unharmed after an encounter with his technique, but that was only because the Sky Arena referee had decided to give Hisoka more than the standard number of points per hit, to end their match as soon as possible and reduce the likelihood of the younger contestant being injured grievously. Hisoka wanted to continue fighting with the boy, but it couldn't be helped. If the referee hadn't interfered he could have lost control and killed Gon prematurely. He would have enjoyed it then, but regretted it afterwards – the child's development was coming along nicely; improving by leaps and bounds every time they met. Maybe the next time they fought Gon would be strong enough to be the first to defeat his Bungee Gum technique, instead of just trying to predict and counter each pull-and-punch combo, like what Kurapika was doing right at that moment.

_Foolish boy_, Hisoka chortled mentally. Trying to look for a pattern in his attacks was a complete waste of effort, because not only would it be impossible for Kurapika to fight and analyze his moves simultaneously, but his attacks were also completely random. He struck when he liked, and where he liked. Hisoka was a _henka_ nen user, deceitful and capricious by nature. There was nothing he loved more than trickery and chaos.

He supposed he could commend Kurapika for enduring so many of his attacks for so long. Instead of trying to run away like so many others had, the Kuruta actually stood his ground and took whatever he couldn't block head-on. Fighters without the strengthening ability would have given up by now…

Hisoka abruptly broke out of his musings and focused on that one stray thought. To his knowledge, Kurapika was a _gugenka_ nen user. People skilled in the materializing aspect usually had none, or only a tiny amount of the physical prowess that characterized users belonging to the _kyouka_ aspect. And yet despite the crippling blows Hisoka had started to deliver after that last attempt on his nuts, Kurapika was still standing, and still fighting back.

That train of thought was rudely interrupted when his next punch – only a fraction of a pound heavier than the others – sent Kurapika sliding several feet backwards. Hisoka didn't pursue him, instead narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he assessed his opponent's condition. The blond had opted to take all his previous attacks standing, but now it felt like he'd let the force of Hisoka's hit push him backwards. Why the sudden change in tactics?

For the first time since their fight started Hisoka took stock of his surroundings. The battle had carried them to the left side of the vast ballroom. A trail of destroyed furniture scattered about the middle marked the path both fighters had blazed through. Nobunaga was still seated in his corner, body language aggressively broadcasting "I'm not interested", but Hisoka could see that the samurai was anything but uncurious; his face was twisted between contempt for Kurapika and disgust that Hisoka was winning. Hisoka's cards littered the right side, all around the floor and on the walls above the heads of the rest of the watching Ryodan, whose faces showed either eager or speculative looks. Kuroro had pasted on his usual stoic poker face, but there was something different about the way he stared at them… a confident gleam in those dark eyes… and a hint of satisfaction?

Hisoka turned back to his sparring partner, warily scanning for anything that might point to the reason why the Geneiryodan leader seemed so smug. He saw nothing of immediate concern. Kurapika was breathing heavily, one arm wrapped protectively around his torso, the other relaxed by his side. The Kuruta had triggered his Eyes long before in an effort to break through Hisoka's Bungee Gum attacks, and they were now wide open, and looked a bit deranged.

Kurapika's pupils. Were they narrowing? Hisoka wasn't sure; the bright red color of the younger man's eyes was making it hard for him to distinguish pupil from iris. A prickling feeling of unease tickled the back of his neck. He prepared to contract his Bungee Gum to draw his opponent closer…

But the Gum wouldn't give, and Kurapika didn't move. Hisoka frowned. He had stuck two strings – one on Kurapika's right cheek, the other on his left shoulder, and both seemed to be caught on something. That was impossible; his nen didn't have a physical manifestation, and therefore couldn't be caught on anything.

_Gyou_… He had neglected to use _gyou_ the past minute, opting to rely more on sense rather than sight, in order to concentrate more fully on the task of beating fear into Kurapika's defiant blue eyes. Of course, they were red now, and Hisoka realized belatedly, also covered with a layer of nen. Focusing the minute amount of aura needed into his own eyes required little effort, and Hisoka finally saw what his Bungee Gum were caught on.

In those few seconds wherein Hisoka had distracted himself surveying the state of the room around them, Kurapika had somehow learned to create objects similar to Hisoka's Bungee Gum, made entirely out of nen but not quite solid. The boy had materialized a single pole of nen, positioned it in between the two lines connecting him to Hisoka, and manipulated the pole into turning itself end over end in all manner of directions, tangling the two nen strings together within seconds. Even as Hisoka watched, the pole's ends elongated, jamming against the ceiling and the floor and effectively clinching the tangled Gum in place.

"Bravo," Hisoka murmured. He tried to contract the Gum again, just to test the soundness of Kurapika's makeshift wedge, but the crude construct held. The pole wasn't perfectly straight and looked spotty in some places, opaque and translucent patches lazily swimming across its pallid length, as if its creator couldn't decide whether to materialize it fully or not. It wasn't surprising, since it was possibly the first time Kurapika had ever attempted to materialize an object halfway through and hold it in its semisolid state.

"So you've found a way to stop my Gum," Hisoka told Kurapika unconcernedly. "What are you going to do next?" He didn't add that he could easily produce dozens more of his Gum and flick them onto the blond. Using _gyou_ might help Kurapika spot and dodge the strings, but he wouldn't be able to avoid getting hit forever.

The Kuruta's answer was a fierce, challenging grin – an expression Hisoka didn't know Kurapika was capable of producing – before raising his right arm over the tangled lines of nen. He materialized a lone kan, and held it with the tip pointing down and to the side.

The sword wasn't solid, and had the same texture and splotchy gray color of the nen pole holding the strings of Gum in place.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Hisoka realized what Kurapika wanted to do. His body reacted without conscious prompting, and he lunged forward just as Kurapika swept his sword from right to left in one smooth motion, cutting through his nen strings like they were ordinary lengths of thread.

In the following days to come Hisoka would have two thoughts occupying most of his reflections. The first was that he had acted completely out of character by attacking as brashly as he had done, but he had no exact idea why he did. The only viable reason he could think of was that he had reacted to fear. Prior to his fight with Kurapika the Geneiryodan didn't know about his abilities. He had decided that it wouldn't really hurt him if they did, but that was because he had been expecting to win. But now, not only were his abilities no longer a secret, but Kurapika had to go and show the other members the way to countering them. His technique's defeat was something his ego was finding quite hard to accept.

And the second thought was that he still lacked self-control, because that last-minute lunge was the last thing he should have done if he wanted to draw the fight out and enjoy it even more.

When the dust cleared Hisoka found himself bent slightly at the waist, right hand out and holding a nen-enhanced card to Kurapika's neck. It seemed that his sudden attack had surprised the boy into stumbling backwards and onto the floor. His higher position should have given him a complete win… if the very sharp tip of Kurapika's fully-materialized kan wasn't touching his Adam's Apple.

To be technical about it, Hisoka had the advantage. His card lay right next to the Kuruta's neck, and a single push was all he needed to do to sink its razor-sharp edge into the critical network of windpipe, neurons, and blood vessels, whereas Kurapika would have to jump forward to put the blade through Hisoka's throat.

For a few long moments neither combatant moved, but Hisoka could see that Kurapika was getting increasingly agitated. The exhaustion caused by the Scarlet Eyes must be getting to the boy. If they continued to fight in their current states Hisoka would have the upper hand, yet he knew that it would be pointless to continue their battle. But Kurapika was stubbornly refusing to speak up, and they were both wasting time and energy playing the macho game…

"Let's call it a day, shall we?" Hisoka finally suggested. He was staring Kurapika in the eyes, and therefore did not miss the unspoken assent that flickered within the crimson orbs.

They withdrew their weapons slowly, at the same time, and Hisoka straightened as soon as he saw the kan disappear. Kurapika didn't rise from his seated position on the floor, and Hisoka briefly contemplated attacking again.

_Maybe another time,_ he decided. Those beautiful red eyes were eyeing him warily, and he had a gut feeling that he might just lose his arms this time around if he gave the blond even more reason to distrust him.

Kurapika's pupils _had_ narrowed, making the Kuruta look almost cat-like; and now that they weren't actively trying to punch each other's lights out Hisoka was able to identify the cause of the uneasiness he had felt during their fight.

Kurapika's nen levels had tripled.

Hisoka turned his back on Kurapika and the watching Geneiryodan and exited the ballroom through the open double doors. He fingered his throat lightly and smiled when he saw that his fingertips came away smeared with a small amount of blood. Kurapika's materialized blades were sharper than the real things; that last one had nicked him as his throat moved when he made his suggestion about stopping.

Materializing, changing, controlling and strengthening… If Hisoka didn't know better he'd say that Kurapika was to be able to use most nen types, and all at a capacity that seemed grossly unfair.

In only six months, the blond had grown into an opponent worthy of his attention.

And that astonishing boost in nen levels at the very last minute…

Interesting. Very interesting.

--- ooOOOoo ---

It was times like this when Kuroro wondered if his Geneiryodan had some sort of psychic line of communication linking them, as he could see that they had all decided to put their verbal reactions on hold until after Hisoka had left the room. The less talkative of the members, however, thought it safe to show their incredulity by alternating very blatant stares among Kuroro, Kurapika, and Hisoka. Even Coltopi and Bonorenolf looked a bit more wide-eyed than usual.

The cursing started once the magician was out of earshot. There was the expected string of expletives from Phinx, a low grumble of dissent from Nobunaga's corner, even an incoherent splutter from Shalnark. The girls stayed quiet, as expected, but Pakunoda and Machi were both calculatingly eyeing the figure that had been left sprawled on the ballroom floor.

The shock won't last very long. They had nothing urgent to do for the rest of the day, and the other members will probably wear their tongues out picking the fight apart, until another mission or sparring challenge comes along.

"Hisoka chose not to receive Kurapika's Memory Bomb," Pakunoda revealed in her usual quiet, but earth-shattering fashion.

"He didn't ask for the chain assassin's memories when we came back?"

"No, he didn't. He doesn't know the full extent of the boy's abilities."

"The idiot. He was taken by surprise," Machi muttered scornfully. She seemed quite discontent that only half of her prediction had come true. Hisoka and Kurapika's battle had finished within the time frame she had specified, but the ending wasn't the one they had been expecting to see.

Then again, the general air of unhappiness Kuroro was feeling could have been because of the tidy amount of money the other members had just lost to him…

Kuroro approached Kurapika and looked down at the blond's closed eyes. He wondered if the Kuruta had fallen asleep sitting up, and briefly considered crouching down and checking to see if he was still conscious.

"I'm going back to my room," Kurapika suddenly announced, saving Kuroro from having to decide.

The room the boy was referring to was one of the double-bed suites Kuroro had purposely picked out after they had settled into the condemned building. As much as possible, Kurapika had to sleep where Kuroro could see him. It was just less dangerous that way.

"Shouldn't that be an 'our' instead of a 'my'?" he asked with just the barest hint of mischief.

Kurapika's eyes flew open, and he made as if to protest, but the exclamation wilted into a tired, exasperated sigh.

"… Whatever," he said instead. "Can I go now?"

"Go ahead. I'll follow shortly," Kuroro answered.

He didn't mean to watch as Kurapika got up and walked out of the ballroom, but he noticed right away that the blond was moving carefully… too carefully, and too deliberately. He already knew that Hisoka had injured Kurapika quite badly; he just didn't know how well the young man was taking it.

Not that well, probably, but Kuroro also knew that Kurapika would never let himself limp in front of Nobunaga and the other Geneiryodan.

He walked back to where his members were starting to discuss the battle.

"So far all the weapons we've seen him create are made of steel. Maybe he's limited to iron-based weapons," Kuroro heard Shalnark say as he approached Phinx. The strengthening aspect user still looked a bit disconsolate, but he was listening avidly to the ongoing discussion.

"Eh, Dancho… you're not going to ask for your winnings right away, are you?" Phinx asked warily. Kuroro spotted some of other members throwing morose glances in his direction at the reference to their failed bets.

_I wasn't that serious about the money, but since you asked…_

"Just transfer by wire. I'll give you my account number later." He paused as Phinx bobbed his head. Then he lowered his voice so that only the Ryodan clustered in the right side of the ballroom could hear.

"Again, if Hisoka tries to leave, don't stop him."

Phinx made a face at the mention of the traitorous magician. "Tell me again why we're being so careful with the bastard. We can take him down easily if we all attacked together."

"He knows that we know," Shalnark stated matter-of-factly. "I've been thinking of all the possible consequences if we confronted him first. I say Dancho will win if it comes down to a one-on-one between them, but knowing what we know of Hisoka, I think it's best that we don't set him off."

"Meaning?" Phinx drawled, raising a non-existent eyebrow at the tactician's wordy explanation.

"I mean that Hisoka's a nutcase," Shalnark finally answered bluntly. "His actions are unpredictable, almost illogical at times."

"Meaning even you, the biggest geek around here, can't read his moves?"

In response to the dig at his intellect the brunette just shrugged amiably. "Dancho agrees with me."

"Of course, can't argue with that," Phinx muttered.

"Dancho?" Shizuku called out as Kuroro turned away, "What are we going to do with these?" She waved an arm behind her at the playing cards scattered amongst the clutter of the dusty hotel furniture. The nen sustaining them had gone, and they looked and felt just like ordinary pieces of plastic – refuse, in other words. As long as Shizuku wanted to tag along, Kuroro assigned her to get rid of traces of their passage whenever they moved to another location. She probably wanted to know if Hisoka's toys could be counted as belonging to the list of things Deme-chan had to dispose of.

"Leave them alone. They're Hisoka's. We don't know what will happen if we tried to touch them."

"Explode, most probably," Machi declared flatly.

Kuroro spared a small smile for the girl's less-than-favorable opinion of the magician's weapons. He gathered his coat up from where he had draped it over the back of his chair, and then left the ballroom quietly. The other members didn't mind him and continued with whatever they had been doing before his interruption, but Kuroro knew that at least two of them were training their senses two floors up, towards the room where Kurapika should have gone to after leaving the ballroom.

One of the orders he'd given Kurapika early on was to stay in _zetsu_ when in the presence of any of the Geneiryodan, unless one of them requested otherwise. It was a basic security measure, one that Kuroro was sure his subordinates would have asked for if he didn't. It also served the purpose of reminding Kurapika that he was not in control, and as long as the other members didn't do anything foolish, condition the blond into thinking that it would be safe to let his guard down around them.

But whenever they couldn't see him, if he needed to be left alone and Kuroro didn't have him in his direct line of sight, Kurapika had to do _ren_ – in other words, continuously let a small amount of his aura leak in a regulated manner. That way they could track his whereabouts even if they separated. Sure enough, Kuroro could feel a tiny but steady stream of nen being emitted from somewhere above him. It had a weaker resonance than usual, but still noticeable to people sensitive to nen for up to a hundred meters away – just within the confines of the large building, not far enough to alert snoops to their presence.

The workings of the Judgment Chain were turning out to be quite complicated, both lenient and stringent at the same time. They had found out – purely by accident, actually, that "line of sight" did not mean that Kuroro had to literally watch Kurapika for the rest of his stay with the Geneiryodan. Kurapika wouldn't risk triggering the Chain, as long as he made his position known to Kuroro at all hours of the day, in any means possible, and those means were not necessarily limited to sight alone.

That lenience was perfect, if one looked at it from a practical point of view, but it was also annoying, and could cause problems in the future if Kuroro wasn't careful with how he worded his orders to the Kuruta. Language was prone to interpretation – Kurapika, by asking permission to "go", may not have meant "may I go back to my room". He could have been trying to trick Kuroro into giving him permission to leave – permanently. Kuroro had agreed readily only because he knew that the young man wasn't stupid, and wouldn't dare risk his life with such a dangerous experiment. The blond was also intelligent; he'd know that it would be impossible for him to flee in his current injured state.

Perhaps the Chain will only trigger if Kurapika hid his presence with the intent to escape, but they dared not tempt fate by trying. Kuroro preferred that the boy stay alive, and Kurapika had certainly made it known since the start that he did not want to die by his own technique.

Still… the Judgment Chain was an ability, and it would be ridiculous to give it a personality, but there were times that Kuroro wondered if Kurapika's nen was sentient. True, it kept the Kuruta bound to Kuroro and the Geneiryodan, but it didn't stop him from taking liberties that would have violated the conditions. The infractions were minor, certainly not acts of outright disobedience – like the proximity rule anomaly – but Kurapika should have died several times over by now if the Judgment Chain worked on a word-for-word basis.

None of the Geneiryodan had ever encountered a do-or-die coercion technique like the Judgment Chain before, and Kuroro would wager that not even Kurapika himself knew everything about his ability. His suspicions may not be too far-fetched, then, especially considering that the Judgment Chain _was_ Kurapika's… The boy might even be subconsciously manipulating the Chain to lean to his advantage – not completely breaking its restrictive hold on him, but loosening it just enough to serve his needs without compromising his agreement with the Geneiryodan.

Or, it could be because the blond wasn't completely a Geneiryodan member yet; he didn't have the twelve-legged spider tattoo, and he certainly wasn't calling himself one of them at this point in time. Mentality and strength of will obviously affected how Kurapika's abilities worked. The blond didn't like the second set of conditions Kuroro had forced on him, so those conditions probably wouldn't function at their full capacity, without their creator's determination backing them.

It took at most a couple of minutes to walk from the ballroom, climb two flights of the fire exit stairwell, and walk down the drafty corridor to the set of suites situated at the north side of the twenty-storey structure. Kuroro made good use of those two minutes, thinking and looking around at his surroundings as he thought. Walks like these were among the few chances he had of being alone nowadays. Usually the Geneiryodan separated after every mission, and he always valued the solitude and freedom from his duties as the leader of one of the most notorious gangs in the world. Away from the group he could pursue his own interests, mask his identity and blend into crowds without having to worry about missions and strategies and the next big hit.

But now, not only did he have to literally babysit the chain assassin, the rest of the Ryodan had to insist on tagging along as well. It was the first time that any of them had to live together for an extended period of time, and while some of the members could get along with each other quite well, putting _all_ of the Geneiryodan together for any longer than a few months was not a good idea. With such strong personalities staying in close quarters with each other, something was bound to explode – and Kuroro would wager that Nobunaga's blood pressure level would be the first to go.

Another sore point for him was their main choice of living accommodations whenever they went on their yearly missions. The Geneiryodan couldn't just check in at some random hotel or inn as a group. He supposed that if any of them wanted to push the issue, they could go in pairs or threes, and in heavy disguise, but it just wasn't worth the effort involved in planning and coordination. Abandoned buildings were fine – in fact, Kuroro was always the first one to insist on staying in secluded and uninhabited areas during high-risk missions, but at this point in time he was sorely starting to miss clean sheets and working toilets.

It was too late for regrets now. He had spared the chain assassin's life a month ago, had since been thinking on the consequences of his actions, and he'd decided that he would see his plans to the end, no matter the result. _And besides, this mission does have its perks,_ he thought as he walked the last steps to the open door of Kurapika's and his room, and his eyes fell on the lone occupant seated on one of the twin beds.

The boy had taken his shirt off, and his bare back faced the door.

A very dangerous "perk", but undeniably an aesthetically pleasing one…

Predictably, Kurapika stiffened the instant he walked into the room. Kuroro didn't know if it was due to the usual hostility between the Kuruta and the Geneiryodan, or because of something else. A combination of both, but probably more of the latter, as he could see the blond's left hand inching towards the shirt he'd discarded on the bed.

Kuroro sighed in exasperation. Kurapika was still trying to hide his injuries, but he wasn't fooling anyone. The bruises were livid against the kid's pale torso. Modesty shouldn't be an issue in this kind of situation.

"How many?" Kuroro asked abruptly, and in a tone that left no doubt that he knew about Kurapika's injured ribcage.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't be stubborn. How many broken ribs? Those are your most serious injuries."

The hand froze, then slowly settled down to rest on the bed. A very tense pause followed, but Kuroro could almost hear the gears in Kurapika's head turning, still trying to think of a way out of what the boy must view as an embarrassing display of vulnerability.

"It's none of your business," Kurapika finally mumbled, but his voice was weak, and the retort sounded lame and half-hearted.

Kuroro raised an eyebrow in disbelief, even if the boy couldn't see him. "Kurapika, you've been with us a month. You should know by now that I make it my business to know how my Ryodan are doing." He made sure to sound formal, business-like, but not lecturing or patronizing, with just the right inflection of professional concern. Pity probably wouldn't sit too well with the Kuruta's current willful attitude.

"… Three," the blond answered grudgingly after what seemed like an eternity. "And I'm having difficulty breathing, so shut up and let me concentrate."

Kuroro managed to blink in surprise before amusement took over. The boy was about the only person he'd ever met who had the nerve to order him to "shut up". He walked a few more steps into the room and sat on a nearby chair, then watched as Kurapika materialized his chain bracelet and manipulated the cross-tipped Holy Chain into hovering over the bruises on his torso. Bluish-black faded into light brown within a few seconds, and the blond shuddered once before he ended the healing process.

"Bandages?" Kuroro murmured as he spotted the white rolls and the other first aid equipment scattered on the bed around the younger boy. He remembered seeing a first-aid box somewhere out in the corridor…

"I'm not going to heal them all the way. Just reset the cracks, then let the bruising heal naturally." The blond then scowled at Kuroro, who found himself thinking about his initial warning to the young man about using the Scarlet Eyes too much. Kurapika's eyes still looked a bit reddish, but the eerie glow faded as the original blue color of the blond's pupils reasserted itself.

"I've already tired myself too much. Any more and I'll collapse again."

"You're not angry at me for warning you about using your Eyes extensively, are you?" he asked bemusedly.

Kurapika looked away and busied himself with unrolling one of the bandages. "This is your fault in the first place. You could have refused Hisoka's request."

"The challenge was there," Kuroro pointed out. "I wanted you to take it, and you did – magnificently, I might add."

"He'll be even more unbearable, now that he knows about my _tokushitsu_ ability."

"Having problems with his amorous advances?"

"... Perverted piece of filth…" Kurapika growled in an undertone. Kuroro wanted to agree. Instead he stood up and approached the blond, who was having difficulty winding the bandage around his own chest.

"Let me do that."

"I'm fine!"

Eyes that flashed defiance warned him to stay away, but the boy's hands fumbled, and the rolled end of the bandage tumbled to the floor. Kuroro quickly snatched it up before it could unroll completely.

"Do I have to issue another order?"

The Kuruta's answer was another frustrated glare, but the threatening look fell short with the way he went red with embarrassment. He didn't protest, though, when Kuroro gestured for him to sit closer to the edge of the bed, facing away from the corner so he could stand behind and reach over the blond more easily; and so Kuroro assumed that he had permission to take over the bandaging.

What followed was an incredibly awkward silence, Kuroro finding himself in yet another unlikely situation, and Kurapika visibly struggling not to jump or flinch each time the Geneiryodan leader's fingertips ghosted over his skin.

"Relax. I'm not going to bite," Kuroro murmured after Kurapika cringed for what seemed like the hundredth time. As to be expected, his reassurance went unheeded, and he continued with his task, smiling secretly at each new reaction the blond failed to suppress.

Of course, he couldn't blame the boy for acting this way around him. Kurapika's pain and anger at being orphaned went far deeper than any of them knew or cared to understand. One month of normal association wasn't going to erase five years of hatred. But if the blond didn't realize soon that revenge was ultimately a self-destructive path, he'd be resigning himself to an early grave after a short life marked with violence and death. It would be an utter waste of talent.

Kuroro on the other hand harbored no resentment towards the blond. Back in York Shin he'd only coordinated their search-and-destroy efforts as a countermeasure against what had seemed like a very real threat to the Ryodan, but now that he had said threat more or less under control, they could all put that "destroy" objective on hold and see how things would turn out. And as far as motives went, the chain assassin only did what he thought was right. It was the same for Ubogin – who had chosen to die rather than betray his allies. They both went into battle knowing all the risks involved, and the fate of death that awaited the loser. It just happened that Kurapika fought better.

Kuroro worked quickly and efficiently, winding the cloth with an ease born of practice. Kurapika had a small torso; it wasn't too difficult to reach around him. Actually, he had only half of his concentration trained on the task. The other half was busy seizing this chance to study the Kuruta up close. Of course, he'd been watching over Kurapika for the past month, but this was the first time that he'd seen the boy without his shirt on.

The Geneiryodan head had a taste for the arts, and eyes skilled in appraising and picking out objects of worth or value. It was a vital requirement, if he wanted to be effective in leading a bunch of thieves who specialized in making money off of stolen artifacts and rarities. Kuroro knew beauty when he saw it, even if it was being hidden or disguised to look ordinary or ugly, and his skill for spotting and appreciating beauty didn't just apply to inanimate or dead objects.

Kurapika was far too pale, and could do with a few more pounds, but the boy was undeniably attractive. The thick layers of those ungainly tribal outfits the blond liked to wear hid a dancer's physique, lithe, lean and graceful, with a narrow waist and slim hips – exactly like a girl's but for the flat chest and the muscles, which were almost indefinable unless one looked closely. A slight frame, and he probably had a thin skeletal structure. Kuroro doubted that the blond would be anything but slender, even if he went on an all-carb diet and lifted weights everyday.

Then there was that refined face, the delicate profile reminding Kuroro of marble sculptures he'd seen in museums, and intense blue eyes that embodied the world's oceans, dark and stormy in anger, crystalline and calm in neutrality, and clear yet deep when relaxed…

Kuroro shook himself out of the disturbingly poetic turn his thoughts had taken, and focused on tying off the bandaging properly. His work didn't turn out sloppy, but it was a wonder that Kurapika didn't feel his temporary caretaker's admiring gaze on him.

_Okay. You've had your fun. Now stop fantasizing and step away from the underage Kuruta, before he realizes that you _have_ been thinking about him!_

But Kuroro decided to allow himself one last concession before announcing that he'd finished with his task. He wanted to touch, to see for himself if the blond strands of Kurapika's hair felt as soft as they looked…

"There. I'm done," he declared, and at the same time he reached forward and ruffled the boy's hair into a mess resembling a shih-tzu on a bad hair day, before Kurapika could jerk away in delayed shock and indignation.

_Strange, this…_ It didn't take him long to realize that he was enjoying teasing his newest recruit. He hadn't felt the need to joke around with any of the Ryodan before. With them he always maintained a professional front, believing that if he led well, they would do their jobs well, too. Kuroro's relationships with the more open of the original members went far deeper than the platonic level, but there were times that he'd had to forego camaraderie for quick decisions and even quicker responses in tight situations.

Kuroro's amusement increased as he watched Kurapika struggle to keep his temper in check. The boy seemed extremely flustered, for some reason. Kuroro could guess well enough. The blond was probably wondering if he should thank him after the stunt the older man had pulled with his hair. In the end Kurapika's own morality decided for him.

"Thank you," the Kuruta finally managed to mutter.

Kuroro stifled a smile at the swallowed offering, wondering how much pride it cost the blond to acknowledge his help.

"You're welcome," he responded readily.

He stood and walked towards the door, and Kurapika retrieved his shirt and pulled it over his head and his now-bandaged chest. Instead of following Kuroro, though, the blond carefully set the rest of the dressings aside at the foot of his bed, and sat by the head, leaning against the headboard.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No… I think I should stay here."

"Why not?"

Kurapika hesitated before explaining, "I don't feel like dealing with the others right now… Besides, they'll probably accuse me of setting up that draw on purpose, just so they wouldn't win their bets."

Kuroro could feel his eyebrows rising in skepticism.

"Well, they would," Kurapika repeated grumpily. "You're the only one who got anything out of that fight."

"Point taken." Kuroro thought for a few seconds, then walked back into the room and reclaimed the chair he had sat on earlier.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm keeping you company," he answered, and knowing that Kurapika would regard him with suspicion, smiled placatingly as the boy frowned confusedly.

"Just laying low for a while, same as what you're doing. They might accuse me of using one of my stolen skills to predict that you'd tie with Hisoka." He'd meant it as a joke to get the blond to relax, so he was slightly surprised when Kurapika spoke after a minute or so of silence.

"And did you?"

Kuroro looked at Kurapika, and searched the younger man's eyes for a clue to what he was thinking. The blue orbs were clear, but they were void of any emotion. That question sounded like a test, though, and fortunately, he knew exactly how to answer it.

"No. You're still a long way from being able to beat Hisoka single-handedly, but I knew you wouldn't let yourself lose."

Kurapika did not speak anymore after that, but Kuroro somehow felt a bit of the wariness in the boy's posture disappearing. He took a small pocketbook out from one of his coat pockets and started to read, while Kurapika alternated between closing his eyes – meditating, he assumed – and looking out the window with an introspective expression on his face.

Kuroro was content to let the rest of the afternoon speed by quietly, not interrupting Kurapika with one of their usual discussions – and he realized that the silence was surprisingly amiable. It was much better than listening to Nobunaga and Phinx bicker, at least.

--- end of chapter twelve ---

notes:

… 300 reviews. You guys don't plan on letting me go, do you? I would have stopped long ago if this wasn't so well-received. Thank you very much for the continued support!

I realize that I've been inconsistent with the italicizing. I've decided that the more obscure Japanese nen terms should be in italics, except for the word "nen" itself, since any Hunter X Hunter fan should know that one. I'll be going back over the earlier chapters to do some revisions, and that will be one of the problems I'll be correcting. Other issues are Coltopi's gender, formatting, grammatical errors I might have missed, plus one original character's name. I would have waited to post this chapter until I've done with the revisions, then upload them at the same time, but this has been delayed long enough.

To those who can't visualize how Kurapika's nen pole tangled Hisoka's Bungee Gum, leave your emails, with a request, and I'll try to send an illustrated explanation.

Apologies to Hisoka fans for not giving him a win. I'm a biased Kurapika fangirl; it's almost predictable that I wouldn't let him lose. P Anyway, take note that Hisoka doesn't know about Kurapika being able to exert 100 of all aspects at the Scarlet Eyes state. If he did, the outcome of their fight would have been different.

Readers of TwigCollins' _A Long Hard Road_ (one of the best FF7 fics I've ever read) might notice the similarities between her chapter 23 and Kuroro's POV in this chapter. Kuroro-muse was being overly romantic, and when I wrote that part he sounded too much like a hormonal teenager… I had to revamp that section because I realized that I went too far. When I tried to write the second time around I was still having problems. So, uhh… I borrowed some of her phrases from Sephiroth's thoughts about Cloud, and adapted them to apply to Kurapika. Twig, if you're anywhere near this fic, I apologize for the infringement. bows

Now… this probably won't make much of a difference, considering how long it took me to write the last few chapters, but I'm taking a break from writing Wild Hearts to work on a new fic. It's also Kuroro/Kurapika, but this time it's a movie parody. I'll get back to WH after posting the first chapter of the new fic. I've written the first half of that chapter, so hopefully it won't take me too long.

In the meantime, there are a few fics you might want to read if you're looking for a KxK fix. At the top of the list are _Hunt for the Intangible_, by Mistress 259, and _SNAPSHOT: Nothing Stays the Same_ by Lady Addiction. The first is a work in progress, and the second is a one-shot, loosely based on WH. You might also want to read _Exploits of a Blonde Ryodan_, by the simple mind (also based on WH), and _Blood Pact_, by Blitz Magnus. Lastly, I highly recommend Yomi's _Damnation?_, but only if you have a _very_ open mind and can read a fic objectively without getting pulled in by the issues it addresses. It's… quite controversial, and I might be asking for trouble by recommending it here, but I honestly think that it's a high-level piece of work, if only for its philosophical value. But if you can't read objectively, and read it despite my warnings, and it turns out that you don't like it, then just hit back and forget about it. You won't change anything by reviewing because the co-authors are very steadfast in their beliefs.

Last edited on April 4, 2004


	13. Lyros Rises

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : The Geneiryodan's actions attract the attention of some powerful people, and Kurapika is confronted by someone who has ties to his past.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and wholesale slaughter of nameless guards for this chapter

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** I have this foreboding that this chapter is going to be a make-or-break, considering that I'm introducing a major OC…

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 13 – Lyros Rises

They had been called to yet another "urgent" meeting, although for the people who gathered at the private conference room, the word "urgent" was fast becoming synonymous with "trivial", "annoying", and "utter waste of time", among other things.

Most people think that corporate meetings are boring, attended willingly only by stiff-backed, gray-haired millionaires in drab cotton suits. At least one scribe or secretary will be at hand, fingers poised over a typewriter or some other similar encoding device, and whose presence is required for the customary taking of notes, for the benefit of the attendees who all have more important things to do than scribble away like college students. The gathering will likely start on the clock, but with pleasantries first being exchanged between even the bitterest of rivals among those present. Then the reading of the last meeting's minutes, enumeration of that meeting's issues, perhaps some more dilly-dallying around the lesser problems before the presiding officer finally gets around to raising the main push of the meeting.

Not so with the congregation currently occupying the facility's most secure conference room. No legal pads, no scribes, and no gray suits – just one round glass-topped table, several plush swivel chairs, a large screen mounted on the innermost wall, the steward with his trays of cocktail glasses and canapés, and of course, the attendees in their most casual outfits.

No one bothered with minutes and pleasantries, either. The discussions started as soon as everyone had sat down, the most aggressive of the seated gentlemen homing in immediately on the reason for the emergency meeting.

"There's been another raid, hasn't there?" flinty-eyed Altair demanded in the same arrogant, overbearing manner he used when dealing with the personnel of his numerous underground businesses.

It was a rhetorical question, of course. One that Breda Luther ignored, by stating another question of his own.

"Where in hell are they getting their intel? Don't tell me there's a list of corporate-owned property floating around somewhere."

"Didn't you notice? They're only targeting members known to be in possession of the SE series."

"What, some kind of crusade for revenge?"

"I can hardly believe that they're doing it all for that new member of theirs. Maybe they're doing it just to tick Altair off."

The third person in the group, already used to playing the middleman between the perpetually clashing Altair and Luther, deftly pulled out a remote control and flicked a switch. The previously dark screen at the back of the room promptly flickered to life, distracting Altair's attention from the indirect jibe Luther had thrown at him.

"One of Reneult's security cameras took this," Kain Gilder quietly announced as the screen started playing a video segment. They watched as a figure sauntered into view from the upper right corner of the screen, stopped right below where the camera lens was supposedly mounted, and grinned cheekily up at the device. Then, as if the smirk had been some sort of cue, the screen jumped, and the man's face distorted crazily for a second before winking out into the snow-flecked fields of television static.

"Kuroro Lucifer. Undeniable proof," Luther announced with a gleeful flourish.

"Was there any doubt?" Altair grumbled.

"York Shin's Godfathers reported his death," the young man known as Sahide, the fourth member of their little clique, now spoke.

The inch-thick report had been delivered to them weeks before, but of course, no one believed it, or even bothered to read it in its entirety. The Godfathers weren't known for being thorough in their investigations. If they thought that withholding information from their betters would serve their needs, they would do it.

Most of the mafia were also ignorant to the wonders of nen and aura manipulation. The few who did know kept the knowledge to themselves, close to their hearts and even closer to their pockets, believing that they were privy to information that would put one up on their rivals. They also preferred to exploit what power their men possessed rather than try to understand or develop the skills to their fullest potential.

"And nobody saw fit to inform them that one of the Geneiryodan could replicate objects?"

"What they don't know won't hurt them. Besides, the original Godfathers are dead – killed by one of the Zaoldyecks. Zenji and company are now squabbling over the scraps."

"Let them be. They'd just get in our way if they tried to interfere," Altair declared with the finality of one dismissing a lesser power.

Luther could have used the statement to fuel another argument, but he happened to agree with Altair this time around. The room was silent for a moment as the men's attentions returned to the video screen.

The fifth and the last man yet to speak sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in an unconcerned fashion. "None of the other cameras caught anything, correct? They were all destroyed," Raul Fueur stated in a pleasant, fluid voice that belied his age.

"As was this one," Gilder supplied solicitously. "I think Lucifer showed himself on purpose."

"Bastard grinned into the camera. Of course it was on purpose," Luther mumbled.

"What destroyed the camera? There was no one else near it, and Lucifer didn't make any move towards it," Feuer asked.

"It was the Kuruta."

"What? How did you know?"

"Reneult had another camera mounted on that corridor. It gives a nice view of the destroyed camera and anything within a dozen feet of it." Gilder thumbed another switch, and Kuroro Lucifer's grinning visage disappeared to be replaced by a second video footage. The new image was in black and white, the hallway seemed darker and more blurry, and thin black lines scrolled down the screen in a never-ending queue.

"Unfortunately, being smaller, it has significantly less power, so the footage is not clear."

Everyone squinted at the gray image. They could see Lucifer and the exposed hallway camera on the left, and several feet of the corridor behind him running from the center to the right edge of the screen. The hidden camera had been mounted at an angle to cover as large a distance as possible, so the dimensions of the image it captured were skewed. Lucifer looked like a dwarf. But what the first camera hadn't been able to capture on tape was now revealed on the lower-quality video.

There was another person in the corridor, standing just beyond the first camera's reach. As the segment played out, they watched Lucifer's unidentified companion raise the whole length of his right arm and hold it parallel to the floor. Something that looked like a length of rope dangled down from the person's hand. At least, it looked like rope – until the dangling end suddenly surged towards the other camera, swinging up in a wide arc to avoid the sweep of the other camera's lens. They almost didn't see the movement because of the graininess of the film, and they couldn't see what the "rope" did to the camera because the device was too far down the corridor, and looked minuscule on the screen. But the time on lower right of the video footage that indicated the instant the "rope" made contact with the first camera coincided with the time it was destroyed on the other video.

"Are you sure that's the Kuruta? This thing's not even colored!"

"His profile does not match any of the other Geneiryodan. From a distance he resembles Shalnark, but Shalnark is taller by at least four inches," Gilder explained.

The other men looked at him disbelievingly. They didn't think it possible to measure a person's height that accurately with the poor quality the footage had. They turned back to the video screen just in time to see Lucifer turn around and gesture to the other person. Then the two figures walked past the destroyed camera, and out of reach of the hidden camera's lens.

"Well…" Luther spoke into the silence, "What are we going to do about this? Reneult and the others are demanding that we retaliate. Are we still going to ignore them?"

"I'll take action if nobody wants to," Altair interjected rather savagely, "Lucifer's getting too cheeky. He needs to be taught a lesson."

"I think that the time has come," Feuer said slowly, "to permanently terminate the operations of the Geneiryodan."

The silence resumed as the other four digested the announcement. It was clear that they had expected some sort of response, but not one so extreme and final.

"We must now assume that they have started to move against us," Feuer continued. "The past five years all we have seen from them are petty thieveries, isolated cases that constitute mere inconveniences for us. But this continued string of attacks indicates that they are actively hunting for Lyros. Perhaps the emergence of the Kuruta has something to do with it."

"Kill the buggers now before they get too close, is it?"

"If that is what you wish, then. But how are we going to go about it? They have grown quite formidable over the past years," Gilder reminded.

"It will be easy enough to corner them – just like herding rats," Altair mused.

"You underestimate them too much," Luther argued. "Even licensed blacklist hunters can't do anything against them."

"And _you_ think of them too highly!" Altair fired back, "One might think that you're rooting for them behind our backs!"

"There's no need for accusations," Feuer interrupted. He actually seemed amused at the bickering of his colleagues. "Both of you are correct – the Geneiryodan are now too powerful for normal combatants to handle. But their movements are predictable to a certain degree. It will not be difficult to think of a way to defeat them."

"We could do what we did back then…"

Feuer shook his head. "That's a bit too drastic. They've taken measures to protect against such a thing from happening again. And if anything goes wrong our location will be revealed to them."

"Raul, you mentioned the Kuruta having something to do with this sudden activity. Maybe eliminating him would stop them in their tracks."

"Yes, I thought as much. But there's no need to kill him. He is, after all, one of the last alive. That is, if he _is_ Kuruta…"

Luther clapped his hands in anticipation of their plans being fully realized. "Well then, to whom will the honor of killing Lucifer go to? I'm game."

"Didn't Sahide already volunteer for that honor?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Damn."

'Well, Sahide. Are you up to fulfilling that vow of yours?" Feuer asked, eyeing the youngest member of their circle appraisingly. Sahide had been uncharacteristically quiet during the meeting, and Feuer wondered if the video had unsettled him.

But as usual, his ward seemed unperturbed. His blue eyes were untroubled as he nodded his acquiescence. "Of course. Do you have any specific requests?"

Feuer looked at each of the others in turn, silently confirming that they had no objections to his order. After he received three shakes of the head in reply he turned back to Sahide. "You need not do anything to Lucifer for now, but we need to separate the Kuruta from them. Deal with him as you see fit – if you want, you can even bring him back here. I would like to see how the Geneiryodan will react to his absence."

Luther gave a short bark of laughter. "Hell! For all we know you two might even be related!"

Were they, now? The film captured by the hidden camera was far too blurry to make out distinct features. Gilder had already done his best to enhance the footage using all the resources they possessed, but the camera was just too low-quality to produce anything they could work with. No matter. They would just wait for the results of Sahide's investigation, which, if anything, should prove to be more productive than any of Zenji's reports. If the unknown Kuruta did turn out to be someone relevant, then all the better, because Sahide would most probably bring the boy back with him. After all these years the Eyes still retained their usefulness as a status symbol among the influential circles. To own a preserved pair proved that the owner belonged to the richest of the rich, but to actually have not one, but two live Kuruta under their control…

Main problem having been resolved, the meeting then dwindled into the murmurs of less urgent discussions, and the chinking of wine glasses and the crinkling of dainty paper wrappers, as the men remembered the plate of refreshments that Feuer's steward had set down on the table before the meeting. Someone had hit the video player's pause button sometime ago, and the ghostly image of the organization's newest target hovered on the screen, outstretched hand locked in position, until the men left the conference room and the steward cleaned up and remembered to turn the video player off.

--- ooOOOoo ---

The raid was not going well. Kurapika had even abandoned all pretense of righteous self-control, and swore liberally as he and Kuroro rounded the corner to find yet another platoon of security guards lying in ambush. Guns spat their metal bullets, and Kuroro flitted amongst their attackers, dealing fatal blows with hands that moved like lighting. Kurapika's own Dowsing Chain snaked through the remaining guards, slamming into skulls and unprotected torsos. But unlike Kuroro, he didn't kill. He wasn't sure what he could accomplish by stubbornly insisting on his strike-only-to-incapacitate policy, and he knew that the Geneiryodan frowned on his seemingly merciful fighting style, but he didn't care. All he knew was that it was the only way he could stop himself from completely becoming one of the Phantom Brigade.

Their current mission had started just like all the other raids. With the exception of Hisoka – who had mysteriously disappeared on the morning after their hotel duel – the Geneiryodan had split into pairs and infiltrated the target mansion without incident. They had entered separately, within minutes of each other and at different entry sites.

The first strange thing Kurapika had noticed was that the house was unusually empty. The lights were all closed, the rooms seemed unoccupied, and from outside the windows looked like gaping holes blown open on the brick walls. In fact, if it weren't for the sentries stationed out on the gates, he'd say that the mansion had been abandoned by its owners. Kurapika preferred not to speak out of turn, much less volunteer his opinions about how the Geneiryodan operated, but the peculiarity nagged at him until he couldn't stand to stay silent any longer. Kuroro had looked at him thoughtfully when he voiced his concern, then agreed with him, but instead of calling the mission off like Kurapika assumed he would, reassured him that the Geneiryodan were more than capable of handling anything the mafia might throw at them.

Falling back to the formation they had used when they ransacked Zenji's compound, their pairs had regrouped into two larger groups at two prearranged meeting points in the house – although this time around Nobunaga and Machi had opted to join the vanguard group as they swept through the house checking for threats to the mission. Shalnark went with Kuroro's group instead.

Unlike what Kurapika had done for the Zenji operation, though, he couldn't just dowse for the security vaults. Once out of York Shin City, the locations they'd been raiding differed in building structure and layout, and he knew nothing of the individual landowners and what their treasure hordes looked like. What he could do was force his aura to home in on anything that had traces of his tribe, anything that resembled his Eyes. The Dowsing Chain would be able to point him to the direction they had to take, but not the exact location of his target. But on the occasion that there were no Scarlet Eyes to be found, his chain would just vibrate uselessly. It had already happened once, and unfortunately, Nobunaga had been among those who stood waiting for the results of his scan. Only minutes had passed before Kurapika finally figured out that there were no other Eyes in the mansion except his own, but it had been long enough for Nobunaga. For days afterwards Kurapika had to endure scathing remarks from the samurai about his supposed ineptitude.

Shalnark did his best to obtain information about each location's layout before the actual raids, and Kuroro always sent the others on extensive stakeout jobs, but the task of locating the Eyes fell to Kurapika. He had done it easily enough for this mission, and they had no problem navigating the mansion's labyrinthine hallways, either, despite the lack of illumination. And the house's main storage vault was clean, unguarded, everything lined up neatly in place, all the money bags and items inventoried nicely for them, with the pair of Scarlet Eyes in their preserving fluid as the centerpiece – a fact that put the clincher on Kurapika's nagging intuition.

The job was too _easy_. Not much harder than taking the proverbial walk through the park. Every light they'd seen on the way was turned off, the house was totally devoid of human activity, and the vault was unlocked and unguarded. It was as if someone had gone out of their way to make the mansion as welcoming as possible to a band of marauding thieves such as the Geneiryodan…

It seemed that the same thought had occurred to the others, too. Their movements were more careful, more stealthy than usual, as if they were all wary of disturbing the sepulchral silence of the lifeless mansion. They weren't afraid of anything – Kurapika could see the readiness in their postures, the way their eyes challenged the veiled darkness of each corner they passed, but their manners definitely lacked the usual insolent swagger. Kurapika had been right to worry; no one had thought to inform him then, but the Geneiryodan had all been waiting for the moment to jump out of the way of the trap that had been set for them in the confines of the mansion they had chosen to raid.

Kuroro, for one, had decided that haste was more important than the money bags they could see displayed on the shelves. He'd snatched up the ornamental jar containing this raid's Eyes, tucked it away using the storage skill he'd stolen from one of the Inju, then left Shalnark and the others to steal whatever they wanted, and dragged Kurapika off to check on something on the other side of the mansion. It was a breach of protocol that had the other members shrugging in bafflement. But after that another more pressing concern had drawn Kurapika's attention away from Kuroro's strange behavior. The "something" Kuroro had wanted to check was the mansion's main control room, where the live feeds from the security cameras would most likely be located. The two of them had all but barged into the room in their haste to get to it – only to find a full security team in SWAT uniforms manning the computers and closely monitoring the security cameras.

All hell had broken loose after that. Long story made short, the guards had turned their guns on them, and Kuroro, in typical Ryodan fashion, had leapt into the fray. In this first skirmish Kurapika only stood by the door and shielded himself with his Dowsing Chain; the attack had taken him by surprise and Kuroro had failed to give him a direct order before dashing into the room to engage the guards. Of course, the Geneiryodan head had proven himself wholly capable of dealing with the whole team even without Kurapika's help; the deafening prattle of the Uzis stopped mere seconds after the shooting had started.

Oftentimes Kurapika had to try to make himself forget the true nature of the people he was traveling with, to make it easier for him to interact with them, but now the reality reemerged to slap him upside the head as he stared at the chaos of the room. There wasn't any blood; Kuroro had opted to just knock a few heads about, but Kurapika didn't need Senritsu's enhanced hearing to know that Kuroro had left none of the guards alive.

Of course, the dark-haired man's complete disregard for the lives of other people appalled him greatly, but if there was one thing Kurapika had learned about the Geneiryodan in the past five weeks, it was that all twelve members were beyond conversion or rehabilitation. No amount of persuasion or coercion would turn them from their illegal way of life. They never talked about their pasts, but Kurapika had decided that their characters had been molded by the hands of necessity and circumstance, and that it wasn't entirely their fault that they had turned out this way. His conclusion hadn't been formed from some great logical inference, though. It was gut instinct, gradually solidified with each new murder he witnessed, each planned theft he participated in, and from the systematic way the Geneiryodan dealt with every force that sought their destruction – like how Kuroro had dispatched the men who had unflinchingly pulled their guns on them.

_Kill or be killed; you did your jobs, and we're just doing ours._

Speaking of jobs, what had the men been doing, crammed in the control room, watching over a supposedly empty house? The question was almost rhetorical, easily answered by the luminous bank of surveillance screens. An entire row showed different shots of the vault and the room and corridor that led to it. Kurapika could see the vault team moving about in the small room. All the other cameras displayed still images of corridor intersections and hallways – which, would intermittently show one or more of the other members as they stalked past, unaware of the unseen eyes focused on them. The last eight or so screens covered the lawn and the gravel path that ran from the main gates up to the front entrance of the mansion.

He had thought that Kuroro would be alarmed that none of them had noticed that they were being watched, but the man's attention had instantly focused on the last group of TV screens. Only seconds before, they had been empty, and showed nothing moving that was larger than a mouse, but now they literally broiled with furtive movement, squad after squad of heavily armed men pouring in through different entry points like ants swarming a termite nest. It didn't take a genius to realize that one of the guards may have gotten word out before Kuroro killed him.

Kurapika felt like he had been dumped unceremoniously in a badly choreographed, horribly cast police movie. Where else should he be other than with the right side of the law, before York Shin? And Kuroro wasn't helping. He remained unflustered, unconcernedly pulling his mobile phone out to update Pakunoda about their situation. Then, when Kurapika demanded to know what he planned to do about their getaway, Kuroro answered, "Fight our way out like we always do" with a careless air that Kurapika had come to associate with visions of the Geneiryodan cheerfully rampaging through armies that would otherwise give saner individuals cause to think twice before attacking.

And they had been doing that since leaving the control room: Kuroro nonchalantly trotting along with nary a care in the world, and Kurapika doing his best to keep up and not show his keeper how increasingly upset he was getting with each ambush they walked into and away from. They left the corridors they passed littered with bodies – more of them dead than unconscious, no matter how hard Kurapika pushed his Dowsing Chain to knock as many of their attackers out before Kuroro got to them with his Benz knife. The dark-haired man was content to leave Kurapika's victims alone; some kind of unspoken favor that Kurapika felt had been allowed to him, though in reality it was probably more of a challenge than a privilege. He was getting too preoccupied with the motions of battle, too used to the screams, too caught up in his desire to get the job over and done with that he failed to notice his hands getting heavier, his movements getting more forceful, his attacks leaving more and more men critically injured than just knocked out. And he wasn't aware of Kuroro watching him carefully, either, the black eyes appraising his form and noting how his hesitance gradually lessened as they fought their way to one of the agreed exit points.

"You will have to kill eventually, you know," Kuroro told him quietly as they paused for a breather. They had passed through an entire block of rooms without seeing anyone else, and Kurapika started to hope that maybe the other side had ran out of guards.

He stopped himself from growling the refusal that immediately threatened to burst out at the suggestion, and instead grunted noncommittally. Yes, he might have to if he didn't have any choice, but he wouldn't, not if he could help it, because Kuroro wasn't ordering him to. He knew that the man was waiting for him to kill willingly, manipulating him into becoming one of them. Well, two can play at that game. Kuroro was underestimating his determination – which wasn't all that bad, actually. Kurapika had no desire to goad him into turning the suggestion into a direct order, so it was best if he answered neutrally.

They had a few more seconds of silence before it was broken by the sound of trampling feet. Beams of light stabbed through the darkness and fell on them; men shouted demands for them to raise their hands and surrender. Kuroro looked down at him and tilted his head slightly, as if to say, "after you", and Kurapika paused just long enough to mutter a derogatory term before lunging forward to sweep the first of the guards off their feet – literally.

Few of the heavily-armed figures put up much of a fight. Instead of protecting them, their equipment encumbered them, and in the narrow corridor it was difficult to point and shoot accurately without accidentally hitting their own people. Some attempted to fight with close-range weapons, but none got close enough to use them. It wasn't long before they were down to the last two, whom Kurapika immediately recognized to be different from the other normal guards. They looked like plain office paper-pushers; their pin-striped suits and benign appearances seemed painfully out-of-place in the midst of the body-strewn hallway, yet they moved with a confidence that could only be attributed to fighters armed with the knowledge of nen.

Instead of making the first move, this time Kurapika and Kuroro waited for the pair to approach them. Kurapika took the chance to look over the man who had chosen to confront him. Kuroro mirrored his actions a few feet away. Kurapika wasn't overly worried; instinct told him that their opponents were below Geneiryodan level. His assumptions proved right when the men leapt at them without any specific nen skill, just the normal techniques of using aura to increase the offensive and defensive power of body parts.

Kurapika responded in kind, and his Eyes flared for the first time that night as he brought the strengthening aspect of his _tokushitsu_ skill into play. His opponent was faster than an average Hunter, but less agile than Hisoka or Kuroro. He sidestepped a series of kicks, then brought his arms up to block a number of punches. The man's defense was abnormally high, though, and extremely tight. Kurapika couldn't score any solid hits in the first critical moments of battle. He decided to wait for an opening, but when he realized that none was forthcoming, he immediately set about thinking of a plan to catch the man off-guard.

The maneuver he had settled on was so simple that at first he thought that it wouldn't work. But his opponent followed him when he started to back away, insistently dogging his steps as he put on a fake expression of distress. Kurapika assumed that this pair had held back to observe his and Kuroro's fighting styles as they fought the normal guards – and Kurapika had made himself out to be a long-distance fighter with his conjured chains. Now he acted as if he was trying to put enough distance between them so he could use his chains, and he could see the barely-suppressed triumph in his enemy's eyes as he "failed" in his attempts to pull away. A few more seconds of playing the part of the disadvantaged fighter – and Kurapika allowed himself his own mental crow of triumph as an opening finally presented itself.

His opponent had neglected to guard his left side in his headlong rush to take advantage of Kurapika's supposed weakness. The blond deliberately leaned backwards, and as gravity started to pull him down, he forcefully flicked his right wrist and sent his Dowsing Chain flying. Its weighted end crashed into his opponent's left temple, and the man toppled and tumbled a few feet along the floor, his dead weight carried forward by the momentum of his interrupted lunge.

Kurapika moved a foot back to regain his balance, then he warily waited for the man to get up. He held his stance for a few more seconds, just in case the man recovered quickly, but his precaution wasn't needed; Kurapika had made sure to put enough force into the Dowsing Chain's swing to keep the man out of the loop for an entire day.

He looked over at Kuroro and his adversary a few meters down the corridor. Kuroro was still fighting, which was strange because Kurapika had actually managed to finish his fight before the older man's… Then the Geneiryodan head looked up mid-dodge, caught his eye, and winked mischievously. Kurapika rolled his eyes in exasperation as he realized that Kuroro was playing with his opponent, like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring the unfortunate creature.

_I thought we were supposed to be in a hurry,_ he complained mentally as he turned away in disgust, then he started in surprise when he saw something – someone, standing in the shadows, just beyond the reach of the flashlights of the downed guards. _A third nen fighter…?_ Kurapika hadn't noticed him before in the heat of the battle. His eyes narrowed as he tried to sense the stranger's presence, and felt nothing; only his eyes told him that someone was indeed standing there, watching him. The figure in the shadows was using _in_ to mask his presence so expertly that even Kuroro might not have noticed him, preoccupied as he was with his assailant.

Sure enough, Kuroro gave no outward sign of having seen anything. It was either that, or his partner knew, and was leaving the third man for Kurapika to handle. Knowing what he did of Kuroro, though, Kurapika assumed that it was the second. Kuroro might even be challenging him, daring him to defeat the stranger before Kuroro could finish with his fight. In such cases Kurapika found it easier to just do what the older man wanted him to do, so he adopted a fighting stance and waited for the stranger to walk out into the light and attack him.

The last thing he expected was for the figure to walk forward, close enough so that Kurapika could see his face clearly. He also didn't expect to see himself mirrored in the other person's eyes – cold blue eyes that reminded him of his father at his worst. The stranger was a splitting image of his mother, from the light blond hair down to the grace with which he carried himself. Only the debilitating shock he felt at seeing a specter from his past stopped Kurapika from making a fool of himself by uttering his mother's name, for the stranger was clearly a man… a man who looked so much like him, it was like seeing into a mirror a few years into the future.

"Stand aside, Kurapika," his doppelganger spoke, the deeper voice invoking an unexplainable jolt of mingled familiarity and loss that further rendered him unable to move and respond to the order or even to ask how the man knew his name. After a few moments of waiting, the stranger stepped forward. Kurapika, greatly confused and unsettled by the newcomer's actions, immediately pegged the action as threatening. He refused to move, brought his center of gravity lower, and strengthened his defenses.

The stranger stopped and blinked bemusedly, as if seeing Kurapika for the first time. "You don't remember me, do you? I'm your brother." Kurapika recoiled at the sudden claim. He waited for an explanation, but the man didn't seem interested in playing the long-lost brother part more convincingly. "Get out of the way," he repeated, "I've been ordered to tell or make Lucifer stop his raids. You, I'm bringing back with me."

"I don't have a brother," Kurapika managed to say with just the slightest tremor of incredulity, as logic resurfaced to grip irrationality by its ears. "I have no idea who you are." And he refused to listen to what the man said – he had gone through odder experiences during his travels, and he wasn't just going to fall for an elaborate trick.

What was one supposed to do, anyway, when faced suddenly with things long believed to be dead or nonexistent? Stand steadfastly by his vaunted gods of science and order? But even science flees in front of the impossible, that which cannot be explained away by the laws of the tangible, and Kurapika was left grasping at the dissipating threads of his reason, as the stranger's eyes changed from blue to Scarlet Eye-red. He had time for one stray thought – if that was what his own Eyes looked like when he used them – before the other man's eyes locked on to his.

Kurapika stiffened. He felt… _something_ slithering into his consciousness, a tendril of thought that wormed its way into gaps in his mind that he wasn't even aware existed. Before he could think to try to deflect the mental attack, the tendril morphed into a claw, invasive, poking, latching on to thoughts and memories that he didn't want seen. He tried to pull his mind back, but the stranger's red-eyed gaze held him fast. The buzz erupted into a painful roar when the insistent probing ran into a mental wall – or rather, a series of mental walls – somewhere around his childhood memories.

The stranger's mouth was closed, but Kurapika could still hear him speaking in that disturbing familial manner, whispers that echoed around and above that deafening excruciating white noise –

**_I didn't think that they'd actually block your memories… probably scared that you would turn out like me…_**

– and the world dropped out from under him, as the claw turned into a battering ram and crashed through all the layers of the mental block like an anvil indiscriminately dropping through several sheets of glass. The walls shattered with an almighty boom, jagged fragments raining down around larger pieces that had somehow survived the impact. When his assailant reached for whatever had been hidden behind the destroyed walls, the pain rose to a keening crescendo, and everything faded into the background, paling into the blank oblivion of unimportance.

--- end of chapter thirteen ---

notes:

Well… I'm still alive. And I'm still writing. That's the good news. The bad news is, I've completely lost my ability to write monthly updates. Still trying to decide between switching to FLAH, and continuing on to WH's next chapter, because my beta's disgruntled reaction at seeing the cliffhanger made me realize that readers will not take kindly to yet another long wait after reading this chapter's abrupt ending… Wild Hearts has more readers, but I don't feel as pressured when I'm working on For Love, because it has less restrictions and I have more room to play with the plotline… Urgh.

An apology to you all for taking so long. Using real life as an excuse doesn't seem right anymore, but it really did a number on me this time.

As for chapter clarifications… I can't think of any, for some reason. I've been working on this chapter for far too long, whatever issues I think need to be explained have disappeared into the woodwork. I'll just note here that Sahide is pronounced with a long 'e' (sa-hee-de). He's a fairly important character – what role he'll be playing in my forging of Kuroro and Kurapika's relationship, you'll find out in later chapters; but I've been trimming his character so he won't turn out to be just another Gary Stu. (Hopefully. Character is mine, but credits go to Mistress 259 for the name suggestion.)

I've also replaced all the previous chapters with the revised versions. Nothing major, just a few grammatical corrections. Coltopi is now a male, the character Macadipa in chapter 10 has been changed to Sahide, and the term 'SA' in chapter 9 has been changed to 'SE'. No need to guess what _that_ stands for. I don't understand how I made that mistake when I wrote chapter 9…

If this chapter's not long enough for you after waiting for six agonizing months, try reading _Festivities_, by Yukitsu. It's a New Year one-shot I was able to wring out of her last January. I gave her permission to write it based on WH, so you can look at it as a post-WH one-shot. Go read if you haven't yet! Yukitsu writes the fluffiest Kuroro-Kurapika interaction scenes. 3

And for French readers, there's now a translated version of WH up at the French section of (only the first chapter's out, though.) I know nothing about French, but it looks like Amaryah did a great job.

I'm thanking Mistress 259 and Yukitsu for proofreading my drafts, and for helping me out of my slump. Then there's everyone else, the peeps who reviewed and those who friended me on LJ and YM just to check up on how I'm doing with the fic. I really appreciate your support, and it sucks that I can't write responses here anymore. Perhaps on my LiveJournal, when I have the time… (Oh, damn, that's a huge backlog of reviews to reply to…)

April 12, 2005


	14. Strategic Retreat

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kurapika's attacker reveals his motives, Kurapika loses control over his Eyes, and Kuroro is forced to order a retreat.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** This chapter is the reposted version, now with minor grammatical corrections. Many thanks to Mistress 259 for proofreading this for me.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 14 – Strategic Retreat

Contrary to what his Spiders may believe, Kuroro Lucifer didn't spend all of his waking hours thinking. Oh, he was a thinker, all right, mind constantly working fit to burn out a lesser brain, churning out plans for heists and schemes that would serve his group's notoriety. He even thought while he fought, instantly coming up with raw profiles of his opponents from the way they moved or favored certain fighting styles, how to end a fight in the least time needed, in the most efficient way possible, with the least effort on his part – and if the opponent had a unique nen skill worth stealing, how to force his enemy to fulfill his book's conditions, so he could steal the skills without the other side knowing about the theft.

But if he knew that his opponent was someone he'd be able to defeat easily, and if his enemy didn't have any special nen skill, Kuroro didn't have to think too much about what to do. Such opponents merited only one treatment – death, degree of messiness to be determined by how much they may have amused or annoyed him. Boring adversaries received the quickest sentences, but sometimes, if Kuroro felt the rare urge to play around a bit, the unfortunate victim lived a while longer. Usually around a couple of minutes.

One would think that an experienced fighter like him would be above playing with his opponents. You'd never know when an apparently weak fighter would turn out to be hiding a deadly skill. But Kuroro _was_ experienced. He could tell when he'd be able to afford to draw fights out for longer than was necessary. The number of occasions that he _was_ wrong, though, could be counted with the fingers of one hand. He was only human, after all, and there were bound to be times that his decisions would prove him fallible.

He was about to add another finger to the tally.

Kuroro had seen the third nen fighter before Kurapika did – or rather, felt eyes watching him and Kurapika even if nen told him that there was no one else in the shadowed parts of the corridor. He was confident that his partner could handle his first opponent, which the boy did, as expected. He had been watching over the Kuruta for more than a month now, and he'd formed a pretty accurate picture of the young man's capabilities and limitations. The newcomer didn't _seem_ that powerful, not much stronger than Kurapika, if the boy were to use his Eyes. How was he to know that the stranger would turn out to possess the same advantage Kurapika had?

Kuroro moved to finish off his opponent as soon as he noticed that Kurapika wasn't faring well against the stranger. Something the other man said had unnerved the blond, and whatever it was stopped Kurapika from reacting quickly, as effectively as any physical restraint. Despite Kuroro's haste in getting his fight over and done with, he didn't reach his partner's side until after the stranger had revealed his Kuruta descent, after Kurapika had gone rigid and wild-eyed, in the throes of what looked like a mental attack.

Kuroro's knowledge of neurological assaults wasn't limited to what he knew of Pakunoda's abilities. Usually some form of contact would be needed to establish the connection between the attacking mind and the mind being attacked. The first was physical touch – which was impossible in this case, as Kuroro could see that Kurapika and the unidentified Kuruta were standing several steps apart. Contact through aura, like Hisoka's nen strings, was out of the question, too, because Kuroro couldn't feel any nen other than the unique throb of the stranger's Scarlet Eyes.

That left direct eye contact. Both Kuruta had their gazes locked on to each other, and it seemed as if neither saw him, engrossed as they were with whatever conjured scenery the Scarlet Eyes were showing them. Kurapika wasn't using _his_, and Kuroro watched, alarmed, as the boy started to tremble, and unseeing blue eyes glazed over with shock and terror.

"Kurapika!"

The blond didn't respond, Kuroro's raised voice not enough to reach through the illusion he was seeing, not even when Kuroro reached out to shake an unyielding shoulder. He knew then, what needed to be done, but he wasn't sure if butting in wouldn't harm Kurapika even more. The other Kuruta's intense glare slid over him as he moved into position behind his stricken partner. He averted his own eyes quickly before he could fall under the same spell that was gripping the blond, but not before the other man was able to send a tight shaft of thought at him through that one millisecond of eye contact.

**_Do not interfere, Lucifer._**

Kuroro ignored the command, wrapped one arm around Kurapika's chest, the other hand over the blond's eyes, and yanked backwards, breaking the enemy's hold on the boy, and at the same time, shielding Kurapika from new attacks. He'd expected some sort of resistance, a reprisal from the unknown Kuruta for his interruption, but he had no difficulty supporting Kurapika's light frame as the blond sagged back against him like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.

He wasted no time, and quickly turned the boy around to face him. Kurapika was still conscious, capable of holding his head and torso upright, but the attack had left him weak-kneed and unaware that Kuroro was holding him at all, as the older man turned the Kuruta around and called his name once, and then twice, to little effect.

"Kurapika, look at me!" He drew a hand up against the side of the other boy's head, a seemingly intimate gesture that would have gotten his arm ripped off in another time and place, but when the action forced the blond to look up and meet his eyes, Kuroro was unnerved to see no trace of anger, not even an ounce of recognition in the glassy blue orbs. Kurapika was gasping for air, but was otherwise still, the expression on his face mirroring the one he had after his suicide attempt in York Shin, but much more agonized. Unless something snapped Kurapika out of the daze he was under, Kuroro had a feeling that he would have to carry the boy out of the mansion.

He supposed it would be useless to ask the other Kuruta for answers, but he stood up to face the other man, anyway, after carefully setting the blond down to lean against the corridor wall. All this time Kurapika's assailant stood silently regarding him and his actions, as if he really didn't care that Kuroro had just refused to listen to what he had told him to do. Kuroro tried to return the stare as best as he could, but he was mindful of the fact that he might end up like Kurapika if he looked too deeply into the stranger's eyes.

It was then that Kuroro noticed that the unknown Kuruta looked remarkably like Kurapika, only older and taller, with colder eyes and lighter hair. The stranger's red eyes glared menacingly at him – proof that Kurapika wasn't the last of his race. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume that the two could be related, as well. It would certainly explain why Kurapika had reacted like he did. The clothes he wore were also unmistakably Kuruta – high Oriental collar, and the hems of the sleeves and the sides of the pants embroidered with sweeping whorls and lines.

In his expectedly gristly work history there had been few opportunities for Kuroro to act as the defender, the protector – usually he was the pursuer, the intruder, the thief. But now his enemy's indifferent gaze took on a new life of its own; it bored into him, it berated him for interrupting, for daring to stand in the way of its owner's goals. Kuroro knew then that the other Kuruta's main purpose was to get at the boy behind him, and at that thought an almost irrational surge of possessiveness took hold of him.

Kuroro Lucifer didn't like to share, especially anything he had worked hard to steal – and he wasn't going to start changing now.

The enemy struck first, and Kuroro moved a split-second later, so that they seemed to act simultaneously to the untrained eye. In another time and place Kuroro would probably dodge and weave away and buy himself time to analyze the situation more thoroughly, but now he leapt forward and met the other man's attack head-on, arms coming up to block a barrage of short, powerful jabs that told him that the Kuruta was most probably very skilled in close-quarter combat. He dropped down, letting a particularly heavy punch pass by above him, and swung his right arm out at the other man's kneecaps. The Kuruta leapt up to avoid it and did a forward somersault in midair to build enough force to smash Kuroro's skull in with a vicious axe kick. Kuroro avoided it easily enough, but the draft of air the kick had created ruffled his hair like a sudden gust of wind.

The Kuruta landed and jumped a few yards away, but he didn't follow up with an attack, as Kuroro expected he would. He seemed to be hesitating, looking at something behind Kuroro.

He refused to turn around on the off chance that the other man might be trying to trick him, but after a moment he heard and sensed something move behind him. He quickly stepped to the side so that he'd still see his opponent even if he turned his head around to look at the other side of the corridor.

It was Kurapika. The boy was staggering upright, eyes finally lucid but wide-open in panic, and his hands clutched the sides of his head in a manner that suggested that he was in great pain. Kurapika's nen was pulsing wildly, in increasingly powerful bursts that washed over everything within the corridor.

A tingling started between Kuroro's eyes. It reminded him of the slight prickle he would feel when receiving Pakunoda's Memory Bombs. It took him perhaps less than a second to realize what was happening, that the previous mental attack may have stripped Kurapika of whatever control he had over his Eyes, and the knowledge should have bought him time to put up a couple of mental wards, but nothing prepared him for the wall of power that slammed into him.

He didn't even feel the impact. One minute he was fine, and the next he was suddenly in agony. It was soundless but deafening, and it was intangible and invisible, but the force that tore through the hallway was greater than any he had ever felt… and something was clawing at his mind, shredding his nerves like so many jagged knives ripping through tissue paper, triggering synapses all over his body, so that he felt pain and pleasure and heat and cold and a thousand other sensations all at once. Kuroro fell to his knees, fingers digging into his head in a mirror image of the younger man screaming a few meters away, screaming…

Funny. He could still hear. He could have sworn that the wall… or wave of noise had ruptured his eardrums. And he could still see. The unknown Kuruta was now walking towards Kurapika, watching the blond intently, Kuroro's presence all but forgotten. Whatever was attacking Kuroro wasn't affecting him – at least, not visibly. And Kurapika was still screaming uncontrollably, sharp cries of pain and desperation that made Kuroro want to get up and run to the boy and –

The vague thought cut off abruptly. He didn't know what he would do. Anything to stop the blond's tortured cries. Anything to help him curb his out-of-control nen. Anything to bring Kurapika back to his senses, because Kuroro couldn't stand the feeling that the blond's very life was draining away with each tide of power that exploded from the lithe body – the tides that incapacitated him, that rammed through his mental faculties and left him unable to form coherent commands to send to his unresponsive limbs. He could only crouch, curl up around himself in a vain effort to keep Kurapika's enraged nen out of his own mind, and watch helplessly as the unknown Kuruta brazenly walked up to his partner and placed a hand on the boy's chest, as if feeling for his heartbeat –

And as suddenly as the attack had started, it stopped. Kuroro blinked wearily and immediately started to check himself over for injuries. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary save for his movements, which felt a tad more sluggish than usual. His nen was still intact. He couldn't say the same for his mind, though that would have to wait until he had transferred to a more secure environment.

_Get up! You're not out of the woods yet!_

Of course, Kurapika just _had_ to choose this time to lose control over his Eyes. Kuroro wasn't in the habit of blaming other people unfairly, but he found himself cursing the chain assassin for putting them in their current predicament. The blond's non-intentional attack _had_ injured him; he was feeling extremely disoriented, and slightly nauseous. And Kuroro found, to his horror, that he was tottering inelegantly, like Nobunaga and Ubogin on one of their drunken escapades. It was only a dozen meters from where he was to where Kurapika had collapsed on the floor, but his legs refused to stay straight for him. He actually had to grab at a wall to stay upright.

And while he was preoccupied with his faltering mobility, the unknown Kuruta was preparing to make off with _his_ Kuruta. Kuroro growled under his breath and struggled to materialize his nen book, but it wouldn't materialize properly, and kept flickering between solidity and invisibility. He cursed again. At this rate he wouldn't have anyone to rescue by the time he turned to the page he wanted. Kurapika's doppelganger had already grasped the boy's arm, and was leaning down to sling the unresisting form over his shoulder.

The kidnapping attempt would have succeeded perfectly, if not for the hail of bullets that literally erupted out of the corridor wall, cutting into the enemy's path and forcing him to drop Kurapika in order to leap out of the way of the projectiles. Kuroro made a mental note to thank _and_ berate Franklin later; an inch more to the left and the nen bullets would have hit Kurapika.

He belayed wondering about the exact reason for his overwhelming concern for the Kuruta in favor of action, and smiled in triumph as his book finally stayed solid long enough for him to flip to the page with the teleporting skill.

Not for the first time Kuroro wished that the skill had a longer and wider range. He needed to be able to clearly see his destination, and he couldn't teleport himself or other things through solid obstacles. The ability also tended to backfire over long distances.

But for now he activated the skill, and pushed himself onwards with much more power than he would have normally used. His nen may have been affected adversely; he wasn't going to take any chances. Franklin, wherever in the mansion he was, kept shooting, and his bullets formed a blockade that cut the corridor into two. It was to the other side of this blockade that Kuroro teleported himself.

The skill worked – he dropped to a crouch beside Kurapika. He took hold of the blond's shoulder, then teleported the two of them as far down the corridor as he dared to.

As luck would have it, they landed right in the middle of an intersection. And Kuroro felt his head clear, the nausea disappearing when he'd successfully accessed his nen.

Now came the task of running from the unknown Kuruta, who would undoubtedly come after them as soon as Franklin ceased firing his nen bullets. Kuroro wanted to spend more time fighting the enemy – perhaps poke around to see if the Kuruta had a useful ability he could steal, then finish off by beating the man senseless for daring to go against the Geneiryodan, but extenuating circumstances such as this one called for caution and prudence.

At least Kurapika had regained his senses, and seemed capable of keeping himself upright. Kuroro did not quite relish the thought of running off into the dark with only the blond's dead weight to keep him company. But then the boy tried to walk – and would have fallen flat on his face if Kuroro hadn't reached out to steady him. So Kuroro took hold of an arm and slid his other hand around his partner's waist, and they took off at a brisk trot towards the agreed exit point of the mansion.

The thundering sound of Franklin's firing stopped altogether half a minute after they started running. By then they had reached the maze of small rooms and narrower hallways of the servants' quarters. More dead guards clogged the hallways; Kuroro did not need to examine their injuries to know that some of the other members had already passed through the area. Another thirty seconds of dashing through seemingly random turns and corners, and they were suddenly bursting out of a back exit and into the vast Victorian-style garden of the mansion.

It was fully dark outside. None of the lampposts were lit, and the space beyond the first visible carefully-trimmed hedge was one huge mass of pitch-black vegetation and even darker shadows. The night air, blessedly cool after the stuffy atmosphere of the mansion, smelled of rain, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Only an hour had passed since Kuroro first ordered Kurapika to dowse through the house for their target.

"Where…?" Kurapika began, immediately stopping upon hearing his own soft voice rasp. It must have been because of the screaming he had done awhile ago. The blond didn't try again, and Kuroro had no idea what he was about to ask. And before he could begin to think of what to do next, a section of the hedge in front of them started to rustle.

"Psst! Dancho?"

A head popped out from the rustling garden hedge, displaced leaves clinging to the disheveled brown hair. Kuroro blinked at the incongruous visage of Shalnark's head sticking out of a rose bush.

"Could you leap over?" the information specialist asked, eyes flicking up towards the top of the hedge. "Nobunaga doesn't like being so close to the house…"

"Can you stand on your own?" Kuroro asked Kurapika. The blond looked up at him tiredly, then glanced down at his feet. He shifted his weight away from Kuroro's body, but stopped when his legs started to tremble.

"Damn it."

Kuroro refrained from commenting on the rarity of hearing the Kuruta swearing within hearing range of the other Ryodan. It wasn't really the appropriate time for teasing. He tightened his hold on the other boy and leaped over the hedge – which wasn't high enough that he'd have difficulty clearing it, even while supporting another person's weight. They landed on the other side just in time to hear Nobunaga railing (quietly) at Shalnark, who had pulled his head back when they jumped over.

"– not being paranoid, and you damn well know what I –"

"What happened?" Pakunoda asked over Nobunaga's furious whispering.

"It was a trap, obviously," Kuroro replied absentmindedly.

The rest of the vault team, as Kuroro had come to call them inside his head, was there, plus Machi and Nobunaga, lurking beneath the shadows of the six-foot-high rose hedge. Machi was glaring at Nobunaga exasperatedly.

"We got separated from the others – I think they're still inside the house," the girl explained when she saw Kuroro looking at her curiously. "This buffoon," she spat, waving a hand at Nobunaga, "thought that it would be a good idea to abandon his post and come charging to your rescue when we felt that nen spike."

Said "buffoon" whirled around at the insult, spittle all but flying as he struggled to keep his temper and his voice down. "Why wouldn't I be worried, huh? The brat must have done something again. That was his nen we felt!"

Everyone was looking at them now – more specifically, at Kurapika. The blond fidgeted agitatedly under their scrutiny, and he refused to meet anyone's eye. Kuroro wondered if it was possible that the chain assassin was feeling guilt, then he realized that he himself had no idea how to explain their current condition to his subordinates. Paku's sharp eyes had already narrowed, as she took in his posture, his demeanor, and the feel of his aura – all of which he knew were much more subdued than usual.

"An accident," he finally said. A part of him snidely thought that he couldn't have been any vaguer, but then Kuroro didn't want to waste time trying to make the stubborn Nobunaga understand that Kurapika hadn't attacked him on purpose. "Look, I'll explain later. They've sent a VIP after us, and I don't want to stand around waiting for him to show up."

The mention of an attacker, at least, caught Pakunoda and Shalnark's attentions immediately. None of the Geneiryodan knew the true extent of Kuroro's abilities, but out of all of them, those two were the closest to knowing what he was capable of. They also knew that almost nothing could stand in the way of the leader of the Phantom Brigade, and for him to be so concerned about an enemy meant that the situation was far too complicated to be handled through the usual means.

"So we're done here?" Shalnark asked. The way he said it, and the way he prepared to stand up and leave upon Kuroro's confirmation, made it sound more like a statement than a question – and Nobunaga, in one of his rare moments of insight, caught on to the tone of finality instantly.

"What? But it feels like we're running away! Just who is this VIP anyway?"

"You can stay behind and ransack the place if you want to – I'm guessing that Phinx and Feitan would be more than happy to accompany you, but Kurapika and I are leaving. We have what we came for."

Too preoccupied with trying to balance between imparting a sense of urgency, and avoiding accidentally mentioning details of what had happened, Kuroro failed to notice the boy he was supporting stiffening in alarm, nor was he able to acknowledge the faint buzzing at the back of his neck, the sensation that usually meant that someone was watching him.

Thus Kuroro wasn't able to react quickly enough when Kurapika suddenly shoved him aside – hard. At the same time he heard glass breaking, a series of muffled whumps, and Nobunaga yelling in surprise. As he fell over sideways he instinctively twisted his body slightly so that he could take the fall better.

But they were out in a garden – the soft earth wouldn't have done any damage even if he had fallen the wrong way. As it was, the worst he felt was slight irritation. His right sleeve had caught on some thorns in the rose hedge when he'd thrown his arm out to steady himself, and his shirt was now ruined.

"O-oi, brat…"

It was the slight catch in Nobunaga's voice as he called Kurapika by the endearment the swordsman preferred to use, that alerted Kuroro to the fact that something was wrong. He rolled over, and the movement jostled the blond from his face-down sprawl on Kuroro's legs.

In the inadequate light the waning moon gave them, he saw a dark stain spreading over the blond's clothes.

It was blood, of course. And Kuroro was helping the boy up to a sitting position before he realized what he was doing, one hand on the blond's shoulder, and the other feeling for injuries. Kurapika tried to slap his hands away.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone," the Kuruta managed to mumble, before completely contradicting his statement by pitching forward into Kuroro's arms.

Kuroro quickly brought his fingers up to Kurapika's throat, feeling for a pulse that he was afraid he wouldn't find. He heaved an inward sigh of relief when he found it, throbbing quite steadily for someone who seemed to be injured so heavily.

"Dancho!" Machi hissed. Kuroro pulled his attention away from the bloody, unconscious body he was cradling. "Up there," the girl whispered, pointing to a window on the third floor of the mansion. The spot they were at was near enough to the house, that even crouching behind the garden hedge they could see the opening clearly. The jagged ends of broken glass glinted faintly, and he saw something move in the shadows beyond the window.

A figure stepped forward into the moonlight, and red eyes glowered in the darkness.

"Bastard," growled Nobunaga. He thumbed his katana up out of its sheath threateningly. "Should we go deal with him?"

Kuroro considered his options. He wanted to agree, to give his subordinates permission to tear their aggressor apart. The strange Kuruta wasn't that difficult an opponent, if one watched out for the Eyes. Nobunaga and Machi, working together, would probably be able to defeat the man. But uncertainty stayed his hand, and he found himself thinking about what his newest recruit would think if he went ahead and ordered the death of the man who seemed to be a long-lost clan mate.

It scared him. He was supposed to be cold and ruthless, only thinking about how to get missions to proceed as smoothly as he could make them, how he should use his subordinates' talents, like mulling over which pawn to move forward in a chess game; but here he was, showing an ungodly amount of concern for someone he had met barely two months ago.

"No. He's a Kuruta. Or, he said he was."

Kuroro paused. Everyone was looking at him in surprise. He quashed the sentimentality he could practically feel clawing around at his innards, struggled to inject logical calm back into his voice.

"We need to find out more. I don't want to act now only to find out later that we've missed a step somewhere."

"Dancho. That attack was meant for you. We should leave now," Pakunoda murmured, always the first to take his words to heart. Kuroro didn't point out that it was what he'd been saying all along, because the damage had been done – they had dallied, the enemy had caught up with them, and the chain assassin, for some inexplicable reason, had pushed Kuroro out of the way of an attack and gotten himself injured.

None of the other five felt up to the task of asking why. Shocked speechless, no doubt, by the blond's uncharacteristic actions. It wasn't so long ago that he had set out to kill them, after all. Still, it really wasn't the time and place to be digging around for answers. If they could see the third floor window and the attacker lurking behind it, then the other man could see them clearly, too. They were out in the open, and with only the darkness to cloak them, all of them were susceptible to attacks from snipers with good enough night vision.

"What about the others, though? Should we warn them that there's a Kuruta loose in the mansion?" Shalnark asked as they started running up the path towards a randomly-chosen perimeter, forgoing stealth in favor of a quicker getaway.

Kuroro didn't answer. He knew that Pakunoda would have called the other group after he had called her, back in the control room. True, unless they ran into the Kuruta, they had no way of knowing about what had happened. He wasn't too worried, though – the members assigned to the vanguard group had been placed there specifically for their greater combat abilities. They had higher kill counts that those in the vault team, whose specialized skills suited them better for subterfuge and infiltration. And – to put it more bluntly – they were more bloodthirsty, practically lusting after the thrill of battle, the exhilaration of putting their lives on the line. If he called them off, they would start to wonder about his obsession with caution – if they hadn't already. They could take care of themselves, and they would leave on their own, to meet up with the vault team at a prearranged location.

He wasn't worried about the unknown Kuruta meeting an untimely death at the hands of one of the vanguard group, either. Somehow Kuroro knew that the man wouldn't bother with the rest of the Ryodan. The organization had finally started to move, zeroing in on the two people they felt posed the most threat: Kuroro and the young man he carried in his arms. So they had to leave now, regroup and draw the enemy to a more level playing field. Some of the other members, with the usual Geneiryodan disregard for danger, would probably react to his concerns by assuring him that they were now powerful enough to handle whatever anyone threw at them, but this was one operation Kuroro didn't want to jump into haphazardly

He heard Paku answering Shalnark's question for him, absently noted the change in their pace as they hit the deserted highway outside the boundaries of the mansion. It had started to rain, the torrential deluge getting into everything, soaking his clothes within seconds – but he didn't care. Kuroro's thoughts turned inward, mind going into overdrive as he realized that he would have to rethink his plans. Again.

And ironically, it was because his plan to manipulate Kurapika into accepting Geneiryodan control was going far too smoothly – more than he had originally expected.

---ooOOOoo---

Six was the number of shallow holes Lucifer would find on his younger brother's body, once the Geneiryodan had retreated to an area they deemed safe enough to claim as a recuperation point.

Six wounds – one near the nape of the neck, one at the back of the left shoulder, two at the left side of the ribcage, one on the left hip, and the last one on the left thigh. Six wounds, all on the left side, all the size of bullet holes, large enough to cause lots of bleeding, but not deep enough to reach anything vital.

He had made sure of that. After all, he was the one who had fired off the original twelve compacted pellets of nen, all aimed at vital points on Lucifer's being, all supposed to spear through the man's flesh and continue on to burrow into the garden earth – but then his brother had pushed Lucifer out of the way.

He couldn't claim to know why the younger Kuruta had acted as he did since they hadn't seen each other for more than a decade, but he couldn't let his last living relative die, now, could he? So he had recalled his nen pellets in mid-flight, as soon as he realized that his brother would be hit in Lucifer's place.

Unfortunately, he hadn't fired all of the pellets at the same time. Half of them were launched a split-second later than the first six because of differences in the distance to the targeted body parts. The time difference was minutely negligible, but he had wanted to hit those vital areas all at the same time. As a result, the first six struck Kurapika before he was able to recall the whole lot.

In any case, he wasn't too worried. If Kurapika was anything like their parents, like the other Kuruta he had known in his childhood, then the boy would not die that easily, even if he didn't have access to his nen.

He turned away from the broken window, nursing questions about the strange relationship Kurapika had with the Geneiryodan. Did the boy even know that he was aiding the direct murderers of their parents, their relatives? Kurapika wasn't under any kind of overt coercion, and the act of self-sacrifice he had just witnessed showed that his brother trusted Lucifer, to some extent.

But he did sense something strange, when he sealed his brother's nen. Aura normally flowed through a nen practitioner's body in equal amounts, unless the person wielded it to serve his purpose, or directed it to gather around specific body parts. He had felt an unusually high concentration of nen in Kurapika's body, somewhere around the region of his chest cavity – and he could tell that the boy wasn't doing it purposely, or even consciously.

He had been told to forget about everything when he had left his clan, because sentiment and an attachment to the past would just weaken his resolve; but there were several legacies that were inherently part of his being, that he couldn't just abandon and replace with new habits. One of those was his instinct – fine-tuned after thousands of hours of training and meditation.

Right now his instinct told him that the abnormal concentration of nen he had felt around his brother's heart held most of the answers to his questions. To get to that, he would have to confront his brother, now more than ever.

And since it seemed to him that Kuroro Lucifer wasn't going to cooperate no matter how nicely he asked, he would have to deal with the Geneiryodan, too.

Sahide strolled out of the third floor sitting room, into the dreary hallways of the Bellagio mansion. He didn't particularly care for it, but eventually he would have to report the theft of the landowner's pair of Scarlet Eyes, and the death of a large part of the security force they had hired to test the strength of the current set of Spiders. His colleagues would have to deal with another disgruntled member, and in the next meeting they would have to listen to Altair bellowing about how they should have made it harder for the Geneiryodan to get to the bait. He would also have to suffer inquiries about why he wasn't able to draw his brother away from the Geneiryodan.

But it wouldn't matter, all the posturing and the debates and the discussions for or against whatever action he might take to secure his goals. _The end justifies the means…_ It wasn't a question of if he'd succeed in getting Kurapika away from the Phantom Brigade, it was a matter of _when_. The other gentlemen of the board would just have to wait, because he didn't feel like getting himself wet in a chase that could be done as effectively in more pleasant weather.

For now, alone and unobserved, away from Luther's shrewd eyes and Feuer's all-knowing gaze, he allowed himself to indulge in the long-forgotten feeling of familial pride. It was an emotion that he thought he would never feel again, knowing what he did of the tragedy that had befallen his clan. He already knew that the Kuruta who had gone missing from Moneri's truck were his siblings, but until now he had no way of knowing if either of the two had survived.

Now he knew that his brother was alive – and Kurapika had grown well from the snot-nosed toddler who seemed to soil his diapers deliberately whenever Sahide ignored him. And the teen was quite powerful, too, judging from the massive amount of aura he'd let loose after Sahide broke through his memory blocks.

Uncertainty suddenly gnawed at him, and he tried to avoid putting words to the feeling, but they came, anyway – questions that he believed he had already banished from his psyche, that he thought had already faded ever since he realized that he could be the last of his kind.

He was going to have to hunt for his own flesh and blood. Oh, he knew that Lyros wouldn't kill Kurapika. The boy – himself, they were far too valuable to be treated the way their less unfortunate relatives were five years ago. But he would be forced to pledge himself to the organization if he wouldn't do it willingly – and Sahide knew he wouldn't. He had sensed it in Kurapika's nen, had seen it in his bearing. His brother was too headstrong, too deeply involved with whatever the Geneiryodan were trying to do… too free-spirited, that a life of forced subservience would probably sentence him to a slow death.

Sahide shook away the morbid train of thought. He was probably assuming too much. Giving himself over to his emotions was the last thing he should be doing at this time. Kurapika had been wounded; Lucifer most likely decided to flee because the Kuruta needed to be healed. And by revealing himself to the Geneiryodan Sahide had alerted them to the organization's renewed interest in their activities. The next action Lucifer would probably take would be to disband the Ryodan to make pursuit more difficult, and order the members to head back to Shooting Star City.

He had already decided to let Lucifer and his brother go for today. He could use the break to sort through his wayward emotions – especially the ones concerning his baby brother. He couldn't afford to let trivial feelings distract him, not if he wanted to accomplish the task that had been entrusted to him.

A few days' head start wouldn't matter to him – he and the Geneiryodan were all headed for the same destination, anyway.

--- end of chapter fourteen ---

notes:

_Wild Hearts_ will NEVER be put on hiatus, all right? I may take breaks to concentrate on _For Love and Honor_, and new entries for the 30 Kisses LiveJournal community, but I will still work on the next WH chapter – one paragraph at a time, if that is what it will take. I'm grateful for the concern some readers have shown over how slow I update, but please, believe me when I say that I will never abandon WH, even if the fandom dies and Togashi completely ruins the series with his crappy drawings and bizarre storyline. I started it, and I will finish it. This fic's following is largely online, and except for a very select few, none of my relatives, nobody I know in real life knows about it, but I still consider this one of my biggest achievements – perhaps even the biggest, the way my studies are going now. If that's how I look at it, why will I jump ship, especially now that I'm more than halfway through?

But I admit that I've been rather naughty with the cliffhangers. I can't help it, since it's such a juicy plot device. Thank Yukitsu that this chapter ends on a mild note compared to the previous ones. She convinced me to tone down on the excitement for this chapter. And since it's still rather short, considering that it's been quite a while since my last update, check out the new one-shot I will be posting in a few days. It's a bit… racy, compared to my usual writing style, so expect a bit of OOC-ness. But it's nothing you guys can't handle, I think.

Yukitsu has also been rewriting her _Blood of Confusion_ – she has three chapters up. And go bug Mistress 259 for an update to _Hunt for the Intangible_!

Strange behaviors – such as Kuroro's reaction to Kurapika's loss of control over his Eyes, Kurapika taking Sahide's attack for Kuroro, Kurapika not being able to block the nen pellets with his own nen – will be explained in the next chapter. As some of you may have noticed by now, the ball has finally started to roll. We have twelve more chapters to go!

Much thanks to my beta-readers, Mistress 259 and Yukitsu, for going over my drafts and giving input I needed to improve the last Sahide POV section. It was blander in the earlier version… well, it might still be bland now, but I'm hoping that the last seven paragraphs I added made him sound a bit more human, and I'm praying that I haven't made a mistake by personalizing a previously unknown character too much, too soon. If he starts sounding like a Gary Stu, please warn me at once so I can back off on his character.

And I thank everyone who are still reading and following my writing. I really appreciate the fact that you haven't given up on me yet, considering that I've really slowed down from last year. Your reviews are great, and I can't believe the number of hits WH has – 775, the last time I checked! Thank you very much for your continued support!

July 14, 2005


	15. Gravitation

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Shalnark, putting two and two together, realizes that their dancho could be more human than he previously thought, and Kuroro forces Kurapika to look at their relationship in a new light.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N** : As always, thank you to Mistress 259 for finding time to beta-read even with a busy schedule, and to Yukitsu for putting up with my incessant questions and ramblings on Yahoo Messenger.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 15 – Gravitation

If there was one thing that Shalnark hated, it was not knowing everything there was to know about the things that happened around him. Seeing people handling electronic appliances carelessly, and not with the respect that such perfect technological marvels merited, came in a close second, but Shalnark was an information specialist first and foremost. Information management was his forte, his passion, and it gave him his worth in the group. The unenlightened would think that that made him pretty useless, considering all the amazing skills and abilities the other Geneiryodan possessed, but of course, the opinion of the unenlightened didn't matter to him and his allies.

Shalnark, just like his fellow Ryodan, had grown up not knowing about his parents, his past, or even how he had come to be in the wastelands of Shooting Star City. All he could remember now was his struggle to survive the first dozen years of his life. Children were the most vulnerable, no matter how carefully everyone – adults and kids alike – tried to look after one another. The younger ones were susceptible to diseases and injuries, not having the strength and the endurance of adults, and those who wanted to survive long enough to hit puberty had to learn to grow up, fast.

It was a piece of information that had saved him the first time, from ending up just like any of the other Shooting Star inhabitants, aimlessly wandering through a monotonously simple life. It was a story about how information brokers lived, which he'd overheard while loitering around one of the bars in his district. The story fascinated him, and the notion that a person could live on an intangible concept like information intrigued his young mind. While all the other teenagers in his community chased after skirts (and pants) and dreamed about food and getting picked up by adults who would look after them, Shalnark decided to dream and chase after a much higher goal. He became an information broker. Or tried to, anyway, those first few months. He'd stay in bars and pubs, hang around dump sites and district centers, places where lots of people gathered and passed as they went about their lives.

Shalnark was fortunate that none of his senses had been detrimentally affected by the poor conditions in which he lived – and it was much later on that he'd discover that he had been born with an aptitude for nen, which might have helped him to stay healthy and fit despite inadequate basic necessities – and so with his eyes and ears he watched, and listened, and learned. It would have been nice to say that he learned quickly, as he was quite intelligent, but his trek along the path to his goal had been agonizing, pockmarked with all the problems a boy like him could possibly encounter in a bad neighborhood. He wasn't the only information broker in his district, after all, and for more times that he'd cared to count he'd had to bash heads with older and stronger competitors who didn't like newbies encroaching on their territories.

It was just as well that his nen started to manifest at that time. Shalnark was organized, meticulous and quite shrewd; he only doled out enough information to serve his own needs. When acting as a middleman between the local gangs, he never played favorites, and he didn't give extras, not like what some of the other brokers did to curry favors from certain groups. He found that he liked to operate neutrally, and he discovered that he could manipulate, to a certain degree, the actions of some of the gangs by controlling what he told them.

It was during one of those meetings that the lack of information had nearly cost him his life. It was also the first time that he had used his manipulation ability on a person. The contact who had been sent to receive the requested information felt that Shalnark wasn't being very forthcoming about what he knew about the movements of a rival gang. But it wasn't that Shalnark didn't want to tell him everything he had learned, it was because he'd been given inadequate time to do his research, and as a consequence, hadn't been able to gather as much information as he would have wanted. The thug had overpowered him, and had been about to strangle the boy, when Shalnark, flailing about in sheer desperation, snatched at the most solid object he could find on his own body – an old cellular phone with a short length of stout wire plugged into the antenna slot – and swung it, antenna-first, against the man's cheek.

Of course, at that time he had been thinking thoughts of "please don't kill me; leave me alone", and somehow, his ability activated without him knowing how he'd done it. The piece of wire came off, and Shalnark waited to be killed, sure that he wouldn't be forgiven for the new injury. But the man stood up and walked away, still with the piece of wire sticking out of his bleeding cheek like an oversized needle.

Shalnark knew that he had done something. It took him a few more weeks, and lots of experimentation, before he found out exactly what he had done. Everything became easier after that; his ability increased his chances of survival drastically, and in no time at all he was able to expand his operation out and past the boundaries of his own district. As his sphere of influence grew, so did his reputation, and his ability to juggle multiple requests, many of which even required him to reach across Shooting Star and into the other regions.

His first encounter with the Geneiryodan came in the form of a tip from one of his regional contacts. The tip only said that they were a relatively new group that was fast gaining influence over the Southern districts. On a whim, he did some research, and found out that the group's leader was a man named Kuroro Lucifer – which was interesting, really, as Mr. Lucifer was considered an A-class criminal in a number of foreign countries.

Shalnark didn't only deal with gangs, he brokered information for bounty hunters as well. And for whatever reason, Shooting Star City, a place where criminals and the dredges of society sought respite, maintained tolerable relations with the neighboring Golden Sun City, which was inhabited entirely by bounty hunters. Legally, Golden Sun's citizens weren't allowed to enter Shooting Star to hunt their targets, but every so often bounty hunters would sneak in, disguised as refugees, and go after the larger bounties. Anything above B class – the upper B, A, and S, was considered to be large.

People who lived in Shooting Star were fiercely protective of their city and their fellow citizens, and they disliked outside people meddling in their affairs. Foreigners who messed with Shooting Star inhabitants risked bringing the wrath of the entire city down their heads. It was a philosophy that the land had developed after hundreds of years of being used as a dumping ground by the rest of the world – Shooting Star will accept everything, but she will never give anything back.

But sometimes, that philosophy may be waived when it came to the city's more troublesome inhabitants. If a particular immigrant brought too bad of a reputation, or didn't want to abide by the rules, then the locals might send word to Golden Sun that the immigrant was currently hiding in District So-And-So. The informants and the city then received percentages of the bounty if the criminal was successfully apprehended.

Shalnark tried to find out if Kuroro Lucifer was a certified Shooting Star citizen, but for some reason, none of his inquiries turned up concrete results. Everything about the man was an unknown, except that he was wanted for major thefts in countries all over the world. Shalnark wondered about the consequences if he were to tip Golden Sun about Lucifer's location. It didn't look like he'd lose anything if he did – and he needed the money to pay off a gambling debt. He sent the information via encrypted email to his contact in Golden Sun.

A week later, a report came out of the Southern districts, about a group of ten bounty hunters found dead in a mountain of refuse. It seemed that they had confronted the Geneiryodan, and had paid for the intrusion with their lives. People wondered who the informant had been, and if the Geneiryodan would seek revenge. Shalnark wasn't too worried, because he was confident that the Ryodan would never find out. He always covered his tracks, and he liked to leave false trails. All his messages were untraceable, as was the email he had sent with his tip-off. And he had already paid his gambling debt with the profits he had earned brokering information in that past week.

A week after that, Kuroro Lucifer himself showed up at his front door, with an offer that Shalnark couldn't have refused. First of all, the man had tracked him down so effortlessly – he couldn't help but be impressed. Later on he'd find out that one of its members had tortured his name and location out of the bounty hunters, but all he could think of at that moment was that the Geneiryodan must have had remarkable information gathering skills. Kuroro had also offered to help him develop his strange ability to control people's movements; Shalnark could remember being awed and a bit intimidated at the power he could feel coming from the older man.

Probably the most important factor that had convinced him to accept his membership was that Kuroro had been completely honest with him. He didn't hold back; he got down to the nitty-gritty of what he wanted to accomplish by forming his group. He talked with an almost brutal honesty that Shalnark knew had been designed to appeal to his information specialist side. He described the dangers of their occupation, the fact that they'd be clashing against the law; he talked about the rewards and all the data he'd have Shalnark access and manipulate should the young man agree to join the Ryodan.

And barring all of that, Kuroro could have won him over with his charisma alone. Shalnark had instantly seen that the older man was someone he'd have no qualms following. It was perhaps the only time that lack of information had led him into a positive rather than a negative situation.

Shalnark had accepted the offer on the spot, and he'd been working with the Geneiryodan ever since, on separate heists with whomever needed his hacking skills, and on the occasional massive group mission. He still brokered information, but he was no longer a neutral agent. He had to watch out for the group's interests, after all. One could say that he'd found himself a boss – and Kuroro Lucifer was a very lenient boss; the members were free to do whatever they liked on their off time. One of the things that Kuroro asked Shalnark to do for the Brigade during his free time, however, was to keep an ear open for interesting "opportunities".

That meant that he had an excuse to keep in regular contact with their reclusive leader – not that he'd stalk the older man on purpose, of course. But he did his duties faithfully; he called with his reports, or met up with Kuroro if time and distance permitted it. That made him the second person after Pakunoda who had the most contact with Kuroro.

Shalnark liked a good mystery as much as the next nerd, and he used the time he spent on those brief meetings wisely. He observed Kuroro's mannerisms, took note of how the man would react to different situations, analyzed his speech patterns, and tried, with some measure of success, to put together the pieces that made up the dancho's real personality. His efforts weren't geared towards anything subversive; Shalnark just wanted to know what his boss was like outside of his Geneiryodan persona.

He often thought he had it, the complete code of Kuroro's personality. The dancho was sharp and cunning, an opportunist to the core. He was fair and unbiased, and he treated his subordinates with respect. He didn't coddle them; he trusted in their individual strengths and capabilities. He had enormous self-control and a deep well of determination, intense focus and patience that never seemed to run out. He showed emotions just like any other human, albeit more subdued versions of those emotions, like a small smile of approval or a tiny frown to show displeasure. He was a private person, but he valued loyalty and his friendship with the other Ryodan, even if he had bizarre methods of displaying affection – like the killing spree he'd ordered as a tribute to Ubogin.

But then, Kuroro would go and do something that would break that code completely in half, something unexpected and out-of-the-box, and yet so fitting with his character that Shalnark would wonder why he'd missed it before.

Kuroro was doing it again. He had been behaving oddly the past few weeks, but Shalnark couldn't really identify what it was that he found strange. The man was as sharp and as cunning as ever; he was still fair and unbiased, he was still patient and determined, and he hadn't let off on his orders and his expectations. Nothing had changed, outwardly, and Shalnark doubted that the other members had noticed anything, but something was definitely off.

They arrived at their hideout for the day, all of them drenched to the bone after their run from the Bellagio mansion. Their clothing dripped puddles on the dusty wooden flooring of the boarded-up nightclub, and Shalnark paid half an ear to Nobunaga's inventive cursing as he attempted to wipe his sword with the hem of a sodden sleeve. The other half of his attention was focused on Kuroro and the injured Kurapika.

Their leader looked fine. Shalnark wondered if he had imagined feeling the slight dip in Kuroro's nen. Whatever it had been, the problem was gone now. The chain assassin, on the other hand, was still unconscious.

"Why did he do that?" Nobunaga demanded. He had given up trying to dry his katana, and like everyone else, was watching Kuroro stalk his way towards the back of the establishment.

"Do what?" Shalnark asked absentmindedly. Now Kuroro was checking the back rooms, one after another, and he must have been dissatisfied with what he was seeing, for he stopped at the doors and moved on after looking inside for only the briefest of moments.

"The brat! Why did he do that?"

"Wouldn't we all want to know," Shalnark murmured.

"We should have had Shizuku clear these rooms when we chose this nightclub as our rendezvous point," Kuroro muttered.

"What?"

"Even for a closed nightclub, there should be some furniture left behind. I wondered why the main room's completely empty; the previous owners moved everything to the smaller rooms – there isn't space to move around in any of them," Kuroro explained as he walked back to them. He knelt and set Kurapika down on the floor, and immediately began examining the younger man's injuries.

Something rasped in the darkness, and a small flame flared up from behind the main counter. Pakunoda had pulled half a dozen candles from out of nowhere. She lit another, and took both sticks to Kuroro; Shalnark took over from where she left off and lit the other four. He would have preferred electrical lighting, but the candlelight worked surprisingly well in the windowless interior of the small nightclub. He didn't even have to squint or strain too hard to see over Kuroro's shoulder and know that Kurapika was still bleeding from several places.

"How is he?" Paku asked.

"These were aimed at my vital points. If I'd taken them head-on, I'd be dead by now."

Nobunaga waved a hand dismissively. "But you would have dodged them, Dancho. His block was useless; he even forgot to use _ten_!"

The leader hmm-ed noncommittally. His hum could have been a "yes". Shalnark knew that it could also have been a "no".

"It's the thought that counts, Nobunaga," Kuroro eventually remarked. As expected, the quote didn't make that much of an impression on the samurai. "Figure it out yourself. It shouldn't take too long," he added wryly.

And with that, Kuroro had ensured that Nobunaga would be too preoccupied trying to understand his statement to ask him any more questions – for the next few minutes, at least. Shalnark already knew what he meant, of course. The chain assassin had gotten used to Kuroro's presence, to the point that he hadn't even thought twice about jumping in front of the other man to protect him.

What Shalnark found slightly alarming was that he couldn't really see any of the other Geneiryodan doing the same thing. Pakunoda, maybe, but that was because her loyalty to Kuroro was second to none. But they all knew how skilled their dancho was, and they knew that he could take care of himself – he didn't need their protection, he only asked that they accomplish his orders to their utmost ability. It was understood, implicitly, that Kuroro Lucifer would more likely sack them for failing to carry out a task because they were too busy watching out for him, than if they'd failed to protect him from danger because they were concentrating on the mission.

And here they had a newcomer – someone who had started out trying to kill them, someone who had to be coerced into joining them – getting injured seriously because he'd pushed the leader out of harm's way, and he'd only been with them for barely a month and a half.

"Machi, close his wounds, please. I'll pay for him."

Machi didn't move immediately, which was unheard of considering that Kuroro himself had given the order. Shalnark couldn't blame her for being surprised. Geneiryodan did not volunteer to pay Machi's exorbitant fees on behalf of a fellow member, no matter how highly they valued the working relationships they had with each other. It just wasn't a very… Geneiryodan thing to do. If someone did get injured seriously, he had to suck it up and deal with it himself.

"He can heal himself when he wakes up, can't he?"

"If his unconsciousness is something related to his Eyes, it might take him as long as the last time to wake up. I'd rather not risk it."

Nobunaga's face twisted in disgust, but surprisingly, he didn't follow it up with an insult.

_What, no comment about Kurapika having the constitution of a little girl?_ Shalnark thought bewilderedly.

Nobunaga caught his sidelong glance. "Don't look at me like that!" he growled, "I got what Dancho meant, all right? I'm not _that_ stupid!"

They left it at that, because they could see Machi fingering the pin cushion strapped to her wrist. It wasn't everyday that they got to see the girl demonstrating her healing skills without paying for it first.

Machi worked coolly, not the least bit bothered by her watching audience. Kurapika's wounds weren't fatal, compared to some of the injuries she'd had to patch up for the other Ryodan, since no major organs or arteries had been hit. Six one-inch-deep wounds ran down the length of the left side of the blond's body, a wobbly line that clearly indicated the trajectory of the sniper's nen projectiles.

Normally she'd ask her patients to use nen to stem off the blood flow so she'd have a clear view of all the affected body parts, but since Kurapika was unconscious she had to do it for him. A tiny gobbet of nen slapped onto the first of the wounds stopped the bleeding, and a thumb wiped the excess blood off. Her hand darted once, twice, thrice, the threads of her ability delicately linking severed arteries and veins and damaged flesh. Unlike ordinary surgeons she didn't force cut ends together before suturing them; Shalnark could clearly see a web of thin blue thread crisscrossing the wound before Machi completely finished with her operations – a gentle yank, to pull on the thread and close the injury, signaled the end of each procedure. Then she used her teeth to cut the excess thread off.

Machi repeated the process five more times, for a total of six injuries treated in less than half a minute, and only the blood remained to show that the wounds had existed in the first place. The girl asked for ridiculous sums in exchange for her services, but her skills really were top-notch. Kurapika's clothes didn't even have to be removed; she just tore the holes larger to give her more room to work.

"Six hundred thousand zenny," Machi muttered, as she stood up and stuck the needle she'd used back in her pin cushion, "One hundred thousand for each wound."

"Hey, why's that cheaper than normal?" Nobunaga sputtered.

"Newbie discount," the girl replied in a vague, almost evasive tone of voice.

"But you asked for four million for that first injury I got you to sew up!"

"Because someone had nearly blasted your balls off –" The rest of her sentence was drowned out by Nobunaga roaring about patient confidentiality, and as entertaining as it would be to listen to their healer divulging the details of Nobunaga's highly embarrassing encounter with near-castration, Shalnark was more interested in what his fellow members weren't seeing now that their attention had been momentarily diverted by Machi's declaration.

Kuroro was spreading his coat out over Kurapika's prone form, using the heavy fabric as a makeshift blanket. Shalnark would have dismissed the gesture as a necessary one; the boy was unconscious, after all, and until he came around he wouldn't be able to use his nen to ward off the chill from his wet clothes.

But something had given the man away, sent the gears in Shalnark's mind moving, pointed him to the beginning of a thread of thought that answered the uneasiness that had been puzzling him the past few weeks…

Kuroro had cradled Kurapika's head, and with his free hand, had tucked part of the thick fur-lined collar under it. And he had done it quite gently, with a level of carefulness that Shalnark had never seen him display before.

---ooOOOoo---

Sound returned to him first, but there was nothing to hear except for the indistinct murmur of quiet conversation coming from an adjacent room, so Kurapika focused on the aged wooden panels of the ceiling instead. He was lying on the floor of a room that was only slightly bigger than a broom cupboard, and would have been as dark if not for the block of yellow light coming through the open door.

Kuroro Lucifer sat cross-legged on the floor by his feet, the golden light illuminating one half of his face and throwing the other into shadow. He looked rigid, immobile, a statue with imposing features and unblinking eyes.

Somehow Kurapika wasn't surprised. He had gotten used to waking up to find the older man watching him.

"How long was I out this time?"

"Not long. Just a little over an hour."

What Kurapika took to be a blanket fell away as he gingerly sat up, and he blinked bemusedly as he found his hands ponderously fingering the fur-lined collar of Kuroro's coat.

Kuroro leaned forward, close enough that Kurapika could see into his dark eyes. "How do you feel?"

"My left side's slightly sore," he answered honestly. His right hand automatically sought out the injuries he could remember getting, but his fingers found nothing but unmarred flesh. "My wounds are gone."

"I had Machi close them for you. I wasn't sure how long you'd be unconscious."

Kurapika warily eyed the other man. "Are you trying to drown me in debt so I'd be morally obliged to stay with you until I've worked off what I owe you?"

Kuroro chuckled. "You don't owe me anything. You got hit when you pushed me out of the way, and I paid for your medical bills. We're even."

"Right. Thank you," Kurapika mumbled. Kuroro didn't seem to think that it was important to tell him how much he'd spent, and Kurapika didn't want to push the issue. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to know how much Machi had asked as payment.

"Are you putting yourself in _zetsu_?"

"What?"

"I can't feel your aura. You can't be doing it consciously, since you've been like this since you were attacked."

"I have no idea what you're –" Kurapika froze as he suddenly realized what Kuroro meant. He had learned from his master that all humans were capable of emitting low levels of nen, regardless of nen ability. So unless he put himself in _zetsu_, consciously or subconsciously, Kuroro should be able to detect his nen.

And he wasn't in _zetsu_. Or at least, he didn't remember putting himself under _zetsu_.

He tentatively felt for his aura, in that place deep within where his life flowed and ebbed. It was still there, swirling almost restlessly, as it always did whenever Kurapika stopped using it for a period of time, but when he reached for it –

"I can't access my nen."

Kuroro didn't react, although Kurapika wasn't exactly expecting a reaction. He himself felt curiously numb, much calmer that he thought he should be if something had happened to his nen.

"You can't access…?"

"It's still there; I can feel it, but I can't use it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

There. Now the slightest edge of hysteria was creeping into his voice, and Kurapika stopped himself before it could get any worse. He swallowed and concentrated again, but it was the same no matter how many times he tried to shape his aura into any of the other forms. Something was blocking it, stopping him from getting to it. He wondered if that meant that the two sets of conditions he had placed on himself had gone, too, but no, he could still feel their restrictive hold; they were still being powered by the nen he could no longer reach.

"Do you remember what happened?" Kuroro abruptly asked.

"Back in the mansion? Yes, I…"

"You lost control of your nen," Kuroro finished for him. "You were releasing it in vast amounts, without restraint. I felt it grabbing at my mind as it went. Without interference it would have drained away until you had none of it left, and you would have died."

"But it stopped… didn't it?" He was still alive. And Kurapika remembered what happened next, the feeling of something massive uncurling in his chest, uncurling into cold steel ribbons to wrap around his rampant nen.

His brother, hoisting him up, preparing to bear him away…

"That man did something to stop it," Kuroro continued slowly, pensively. "He may have sealed it to stop the drain."

Hearing Kuroro confirm the existence of his attacker made it worse, because it meant that he didn't have the luxury of writing his supposed relative off as a figment of his imagination. And now that someone else had spelled it out for him, there was nothing to stop the flood of questions and assumptions from overwhelming him.

Kurapika's mental defense mechanism kicked into gear, and his mind forced itself to double back on the thread of thought that had started it all.

"So my nen's sealed," Kurapika said with as much indifference as he could muster. He wasn't sure that he wanted Kuroro to know that he was truly afraid of how the Geneiryodan would see him now that he was literally without nen. "What happens next?"

His feigned detachment wasn't fooling the other man, though. Kuroro could see his agitation clearly, and he didn't make any effort to conceal that he knew. "I know a way to break the seal, if that's what you're asking about."

Kurapika tried to keep his face blank, but he knew that his eyes were narrowing in suspicion. He couldn't help but feel that he was falling into some kind of trap. What was Kuroro hoping to gain by telling him that? And supposing that the man _was_ telling the truth about knowing how to restore his nen, why would he go out of his way to help him? It wasn't like they were best friends, they weren't exactly allies, and they were just using each other to achieve different goals. Now he was more of a liability than an asset – Kurapika would be less surprised if Kuroro decided to dump him right there and then.

What was he going to say? Kurapika didn't want to sound too eager or begging, but on the other hand, he had to seize this chance by the ears –

"I can actually hear you twisting yourself into knots, you know."

"W-what?"

"You're waiting for the other shoe to drop," Kuroro pointed out dryly. "Isn't it occurring to you that I could be doing this, helping you, because I want to?"

Kurapika didn't reply, but the confusion in his eyes told the other man everything he needed to know.

"Why did you push me out of the way?" Kuroro asked suddenly.

Kuroro's coat had interesting textures, a detached part of Kurapika's mind discovered. The black leather was smooth and cool, and the white fur felt surprisingly soft and silky. He focused on those textures, the sense of touching the here and now, and tried not to let his mind stray into the realm of maddening questions without answers. Because that was the burning question of the day, wasn't it? It was almost as important as the issue of the man claiming to be his long-lost brother. And he'd wanted to spend a few more days brooding on it before facing an inquiry, not have it brought up right after he'd regained consciousness.

He could have done without Kuroro's all-knowing gaze boring into him, either.

"I don't know. My body moved on its own," Kurapika finally muttered.

"I think I do," Kuroro said. It was his mild tone of voice, deceptively conversational with just the right amount of inflection, that made Kurapika look up when he didn't want to. He had a feeling that he wouldn't like what Kuroro was going to say – and he knew that his instincts were right when the older man's eyes caught his own and refused to let go.

"You've spent six weeks traveling with the Geneiryodan now, and like it or not, you've begun to see us as real persons, not just murderers and thieves," Kuroro continued. "You know that you and Shalnark share the same interests in archaeology, that Shizuku's an incurable bookworm, that Phinx shaves his eyebrows on purpose to look more intimidating than he really is. You've seen the lower half of Feitan's face, you've heard Franklin snore loud enough to break crystal, and you've bickered with Nobunaga on a daily basis. It's basic psychology, Kurapika. Every day you spend with us makes it harder and harder for you to raise your hand against us, not even with the past we have."

Halfway through Kuroro's speech Kurapika found the strength to look away and focus on the featureless wall to his right. He wanted to deny, utter vehement protests that the dark-haired man had it all wrong, but it was pointless. Kuroro already knew him well enough to psychoanalyze him that deeply – heck, the man probably knew him better than he did, if he could ruthlessly point out what Kurapika had been trying not to think about for the past few weeks.

The accuracy of Kuroro's explanation notwithstanding, Kurapika still had enough belligerence left in him to fight an increasing urge to sigh and agree with everything that had been said. "In other words, you no longer see me as a threat," he said tiredly, not quite able to keep the strain of having to juggle so many emotions out of his voice. It was all there – worry, fear, confusion, stress – the entire goddamned package.

Kuroro blinked at his blunt remark. "Well, yes," – he held up an appeasing hand to forestall any declarations of war – "but my real point is that I don't see you as an enemy. Even back in York Shin, when I had the Ryodan move against you, I didn't hate you. It wasn't personal."

Was the man actually telling him that they were friends, now? Kurapika mentally cursed Kuroro for going at it in such a roundabout way. It wouldn't have killed him to say it outright.

Then again, he probably would have done the same.

"And whether you'd done it willingly or not, it looked like you had saved me. Even Nobunaga would have to admit that eventually. And you did. Save me, I mean."

Kurapika started, caught off guard by Kuroro's honesty. He wasn't lying when he said that he had no idea what had happened back at the garden of the Bellagio mansion. All he could remember seeing, over Kuroro's shoulder, was a pair of red Kuruta eyes peering down at them from an upper floor window. An unnamable fear had coursed through his very being, followed by an unexplained urge to protect… to warn… and the next thing he knew he was tumbling to the ground, left side growing numb from multiple puncture wounds.

Whatever he had done hadn't been because of a conscious decision, that much he knew. And it sounded like Kuroro was trying to thank him for it.

"I was distracted," Kuroro continued, "Stupid mistake, I know, but it was one that I didn't have to pay for because of what you did. So, do you understand now that I'm not trying to manipulate or trick you into doing something you don't want?"

"Yes." Kurapika paused, fidgeted uneasily, and avoided Kuroro's eyes. "I'm sorry. You're not exactly the first person I'd trust with my life."

"Fair enough. But have I ever lied to you?"

"… No."

Kuroro grinned, apparently delighted at having wrung at least that out of him. "We'll just have to work on that trust issue, then"

The dark-haired leader of the Geneiryodan was being inordinately nice, Kurapika thought. No, that wasn't exactly correct, Kuroro had never been anything but fair and affable towards him. But this good-natured teasing wasn't something that he felt he could get used to quickly. Kurapika briefly considered asking if Kuroro would let him go – the man did say that he was no longer a threat to the Geneiryodan. But he dismissed the idea immediately; even if Kuroro agreed, there was no way that he'd be able to release the restrictions if he couldn't use his nen. As much as he wanted to go after the man who had claimed to be his brother, he was stuck with Kuroro until the seal on his nen was released.

Which meant that his situation hadn't changed at all. Kuroro Lucifer still had complete control over his life – what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go depended entirely on the whims of one man.

"So what happens next?" Kurapika asked again.

"Well… first I'll have to get the Ryodan to disperse…"

---ooOOOoo---

When the order to scatter came Shalnark wasn't at all surprised. Nor did he bat an eyelash when Kuroro announced that he and Kurapika would be traveling by themselves. The other Geneiryodan, especially the ones who hadn't witnessed Kurapika's unexpected act of sacrifice firsthand weren't too pleased with the announcement, but of course, _they_ didn't know what Shalnark had already begun to suspect.

Kuroro easily silenced the louder protests with a few well-phrased words – that they weren't on an official mission to begin with, that traveling in smaller groups would make it significantly harder for _certain parties_ to track them, and that anyone who wanted to take the issue further would have to do so in Shooting Star City. He said all of that in such a way that even the slowest of their lot would have understood that he wasn't dismissing them outright; the dancho, for whatever reason, was opting for the stealthy way back home, and whoever was still interested in ransacking Lyros-owned property would have to meet up with him in Shooting Star. The chain assassin was just tagging along because he had to stay with Kuroro if he didn't want to die.

Then Kuroro pulled Pakunoda and Shalnark aside to give them his final instructions, to be relayed to whomever they deemed needed final instructing. He also told them about the man who could easily pass as an older Kurapika, about the condition the blond was now in, and about his plans to break the seal on Kurapika's nen on their way to Shooting Star City.

Shalnark suspected that whatever the dancho had in mind would go more smoothly if there wasn't anyone else around.

He also caught the implication that, without the ability to use _ren_, Kurapika would have to follow his restrictions to the letter. Which meant that the boy's leash had shortened quite considerably.

Which also meant that Kuroro and Kurapika would be spending the next two weeks, give or take a few days depending on the modes of transportation available, in _very_ close quarters.

The entire time that Kuroro had explained everything, to the Ryodan and then to Shalnark and Pakunoda, Kurapika just stood in the background, quiet and unobtrusive, silently watching the proceedings, giving the occasional return glare or fidgeting uncomfortably if Nobunaga or anyone else stared too long.

And Shalnark watched the blond watching them, from of the corner of his eye, and listened to any verbal clues that Kuroro might be accidentally dropping. He had to struggle not to do anything out-of-character, like smirking, or leering, because he didn't want to find out what his dancho would do to him if the man even caught wind of his thoughts.

Because, unbelievable as it may seem, he didn't think that Kuroro and Kurapika themselves knew what was happening. Their leader, perhaps, may have noticed that their rookie was an attractive kid – Shalnark thought that it could explain why Kuroro gave him the impression of being immune to the opposite sex. But Kurapika, Shalnark knew from the memories he'd seen, had zero experience in such matters, and probably wouldn't know attraction even if it came up to him and bit his nose.

Shalnark snickered inwardly. He was reminded of a book he had once read, way before he had joined the Geneiryodan, when he was still dealing with teenage hormones and had tried to substitute the birds-and-the-bees talk that parents were supposed to give their children when they were of a certain age, by reading about it from romance novels bought cheaply from a local bookstore.

Yes, that's it. Something right out of a romance novel. Or perhaps the beginning episodes of a soap opera – not that he'd watched many soap operas before. He wondered if he could ask any of the other Ryodan…

… Who would probably immediately declare him unfit for the group, should he ever give voice to his hunch.

But as dawn broke over the city skyline in multiple hues of blue and pink and each of the members prepared to go on their separate ways, Shalnark continued to keep an eye on the unlikely pair. Information gathering and analysis, that was what he was good at, and he had become quite adept at reading the body language of the people around him. Kuroro moved like he always did – purposeful, confident, nothing wasted in extra gestures – and Kurapika, as always, waited in a corner of the room, patient and unassuming, almost like an attentive shadow.

And now he tried to factor in how they responded to each other, how they stood relative to each other's positions, how Kurapika's awareness followed the older man, and how Kuroro always seemed to know where the blond was without looking at him.

He watched from the entrance of the bar as they left, the dancho's taller figure leading the way, and the chain assassin following just a step behind him. Someone joined him at the doorway, and Shalnark made up his mind. He may be an information specialist first, but he was a Geneiryodan, too. He may suck at poker, but he loved to gamble just as much as the other Spiders.

"Hey Phinx," Shalnark called, without taking his eyes off Kuroro and Kurapika as they walked up the street.

"Yeah?"

"What are the odds of Dancho falling for the kid?"

--- end of chapter fifteen ---

notes:

Ugh. Four months since my last update. I completely lost track of time; I had no idea it was that long already.

Will the heavy dose of implications make up for the very late update? I hope that it isn't too heavy or too sudden after fourteen chapters of next-to-no-romance, though. I've been so focused on keeping Kuroro in-character that I'm now scared to death that he won't sound believable anymore once I start developing his relationship with Kurapika in earnest. And vice-versa.

There is one reference to Twig's _A Long Hard Road_ somewhere in this chapter, and another reference to _Naruto_ – the lovely angsty Sasuke/Naruto moment during the Zabusa arc. Yes, lots of reviewers have already mentioned that a certain character and some situations in my previous chapters reminded them of _Naruto_, and I'm not denying it. Sahide was indeed patterned after Uchiha Itachi, and I'm having a hell of a time trying to think of ways that would differentiate one from the other.

I completely made Shalnark's past up. I'm not even sure if my portrayal of information brokers is accurate. Golden Sun City is made-up, too, and I only have a vague idea of what living in Shooting Star could be like. I'll be relying more and more heavily on conjecture the farther I go into the story. (But I'm certain that Shalnark isn't one of the original members. In volume 13, chapter 4, Pakunoda says that her gun has 6 bullets, the same number as the original members at the time of the group's formation. In volume 12, chapter 11, Pakunoda flashes back to when they were still in Shooting Star, and there were six of them, not counting Kuroro: herself, Machi, Franklin, Ubogin, Nobunaga, and Feitan. In volume 13, before she dies, she also shoots Shalnark and Phinx with the Memory Bombs because, well, Ubogin's dead, and she has to look for someone else to take her place, right?)

As you've probably figured out by now, Kuroro and Kurapika will be traveling together, by themselves, for the next couple of chapters. If anyone wants to request for interaction scenes, now's the time to tell me. I can't promise that I'll use all of the ideas, but I do need suggestions for filler scenes. The scenes that I'll choose will be credited to whoever requests them, unless I've already thought of them, of course…

And finally, on that new review reply feature – it seems that review replies are really forbidden now. I've long since stopped replying to reviews in my notes, but that doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for each and every word of support or praise or criticism sent my way. So, I thank you – you know who you guys are.

December 5, 2005


	16. Misdirection

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kuroro appears on TV, then takes Kurapika shopping. Leorio trains under a new nen instructor.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.

**A/N :** Much love to my beta-readers, Mistress 259 and Yukitsu, and their insane proofreading skills. For all my grammar whoring tendencies, I'm partially blind to my own mistakes. If not for by beta-readers, this chapter would be peppered with repeating terms and excess commas and compound sentences.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 16 – Misdirection

There was something about the act of leaving what he could call all his excess luggage behind that Kuroro Lucifer found oddly satisfying. He would never give voice to the thought, though – the Geneiryodan was the closest thing he had to a family, after all, and a family, a support system, however dysfunctional or psychotic its members tended to be, was something that Kuroro wasn't too proud to admit he needed.

To a degree.

Because just like any other family, his dysfunctional little family had its aggravating moments. Nobunaga and Franklin clashed almost every week in the form of sparring matches that tested their "manly mettle", as Nobunaga liked to put it. Shizuku, either because she was forgetful or was bereft of a decent sense of direction, tended to get lost whenever she went out on her own, and had to be retrieved from whatever bookstore she had managed to get herself stuck in. Phinx loved to play practical jokes on the more reserved members of the Geneiryodan – that included Kuroro himself and even Kurapika, during the times when the blond seemed receptive to being included in the group's activities.

Kuroro supposed he should be grateful that Feitan had decided to terrorize the other players of the Greed Island game he and Phinx had picked up in York Shin, because Phinx's pranks would probably have been more sadistic if Feitan had stayed with them in the real world.

And was he being paranoid, or did Shalnark scrutinize him a bit more intensely than usual?

Kuroro turned his head on the pretense of checking up on his remaining traveling companion and glanced at the building they had just left. He could see Shalnark standing at the entrance of the nightclub, talking earnestly with Phinx who was waving his arms around energetically. As Kuroro watched, Phinx swore explosively and then jabbed an insistent finger in their direction. Shalnark's expression became alarmed, and he held both hands up in a calming gesture and continued to explain whatever point he was trying to make.

Kuroro sighed. Shalnark and Phinx. The combination was almost too frightening to consider, and he didn't want to stick around to find out what they were plotting. He could probably use nen to sharpen his hearing and listen in on their conversation, but he had already ordered the Geneiryodan to disperse. Whatever the members decided to do with their time was out of his hands now. He had other things to think about, the first of which was to decide on an itinerary – or at the very least, an appropriate mode of transportation out of the current city.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked Kurapika.

His head was turned slightly to the right, so he saw the blond's startled blink from the corner of his eye.

"I wasn't aware that I had a choice," Kurapika answered warily.

Kuroro slowed down to let Kurapika catch up and walk beside him. He looked back again. Shalnark and Phinx were watching them intently, and there was something… smug, about the way Shalnark held himself. Phinx looked mostly gobsmacked. Kuroro had the vague feeling that their strange actions had something to do with him going off alone with the chain assassin.

_That settles it. I'm not seeing you guys for another two weeks._

"Our destination _is_ Shooting Star City," Kuroro started, "but there are several routes we can choose from. We can get there by the fastest route – which takes about a week; but that would require taking legal means of transportation, and I think you understand why I'd rather avoid being identified by the authorities." He didn't mention his other reason, which was that he'd gotten tired of his subordinates' antics and wanted to remain free of his leadership responsibilities for as long as he could stretch it. "Or, we could take the scenic route. That's the most roundabout way that I can think of and will take at least fifteen days. It is also the most undetectable, as we will be selecting modes of traveling that I'm sure you'd classify as being highly dubious and uncertified."

Kurapika grimaced at the description of the second choice, but he shook his head as if to clear it of lingering doubts. "Anything you decide is fine by me."

Kuroro raised an eyebrow at the blond's indifference. "Oh? What if I choose the scenic route? Aren't you in a hurry to catch up to that man who attacked us?"

"I don't even know where he is," Kurapika grumbled, "But I think _you_ do. Do I have any other choice but to follow you? Plus," the boy added in a lower tone that sounded suspiciously like embarrassment, "you told me that I needed to work on my trust issues. I'm doing that now, so I don't think you have cause to complain or to ask me why."

"Point," Kuroro acceded. "But I'd still like to ask your permission. Is it all right for you if we took the long route?"

Kurapika shrugged. "If you think it's the best way, then yes, I don't mind taking the long route."

Without the others around, there wasn't any reason to conceal his more open side, which his younger companion had already seen on several occasions. Kuroro had realized early on that acting as human and as amiable as possible worked best when trying to get the Kuruta to trust him, and so he did that whenever he could, sometimes going as far as playful teasing – which, interestingly enough, flustered Kurapika, when the same kind of teasing from either Nobunaga or Phinx would more likely anger or irritate him.

Kuroro beamed, and sure enough, his smile produced the expected reaction. Kurapika flushed and looked away.

"Scenic route it is, then," Kuroro said lightly. "But first, let's get you some new clothes," he added, eyeing the visible rips in the blond's shirt and pants.

"I thought you wanted to avoid being spotted by the authorities."

Kuroro smiled inwardly, once again amused that the Kuruta was thinking more like an outlaw than he was. "They'd expect me to dismiss the Ryodan and tell everyone to hightail it back to Shooting Star, but they won't expect me to take you shopping first thing in the morning."

-- -- -- -- --

By the word "shopping," Kurapika thought that Kuroro was going to have them embark on yet another cloak-and-dagger operation, something negligible, considering their criminal records, but still sneaky and unlawful. Something petty, like stealing clothes from some poor sod's clothesline, or breaking into the first Laundromat that happened to catch the older man's eyes. There wasn't any reason to suspect that Kuroro was going to deviate from his usual thieving behavior, after all.

But a petty crime was still a crime. The old Kurapika would have chosen to go shirtless rather than let someone steal clothes for him. The new Kurapika, though, felt that there wasn't anything he could do to stop Kuroro Lucifer from carrying out his nefarious plans, short of stabbing the man in the back at night and getting himself killed by the Judgment Chain. Besides, his clothes really were getting uncomfortable; they hadn't dried out properly and were getting scratchy in the worst places, and the holes that Machi had ripped in them made him feel grungy and self-conscious. Despite his conscience working overtime for deciding to not say anything to protest or to stop Kuroro, his own discomfot was winning. It was quickly upgrading the issue of new clothing from a frivolous want to a very necessary need, and this time, he felt justified in accepting and dealing with that need, no matter how much it went against his principles.

What was a petty robbery compared to everything he'd already done with the Geneiryodan, anyway?

At the very least, maybe Kurapika could convince Kuroro to steal whatever it was he wanted to steal from stores or households that could afford the loss. It was still quite early, the stores and the malls would still be closed. It would be very easy for them to break into one, take what they wanted, and get away without anyone seeing them. They could probably even make it so that the theft wouldn't be noticed unless an extensive inventory was conducted…

Kurapika shuddered when the realization hit him. _I really _am _starting to think like a thief._

He looked up and saw that he had fallen behind while he was thinking. Kuroro's longer strides sometimes made it harder for Kurapika to keep up with the taller man. It wasn't because of their height difference, which wasn't that big a difference. Kurapika thought that it could be Kuroro's sense of purpose, that frightening, single-minded focus with which he approached their missions. Perhaps the only thing that stopped the man from being blinded by his ideals was his responsibility as his group's leader – he could not afford ignoring his surroundings and the people around him. That was why Kurapika knew that it would be near impossible for him to do anything without Kuroro knowing about it.

"Zenny for your thoughts?"

Speaking of the devil…

"It's nothing. Why are –" Kurapika stopped in his tracks. "Wait. That's the Bellagio mansion. What are we doing back here?"

"Misdirection," Kuroro replied enigmatically. "I told you. I'm going to take you shopping."

"But –"

"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen."

If Kuroro was trying to confuse him into shutting up, then he was doing a very good job of it. Kurapika could only follow nervously as the mansion's main gates drew nearer and nearer. There was a crowd of people clustered around it, and several news crews were trying to get past the cordon of policemen stationed in front of the entrance.

"That was quick," Kuroro murmured. "Maybe one of the guards you took out was able to radio for help."

It was possible; Kurapika hadn't killed anyone. He never did, of course. He only knocked his attackers unconscious. If there were any fatalities, he hadn't intended to cause them. He didn't regret holding back on his attacks, of course, but it made things more complicated for him and Kuroro in the long run.

"We shouldn't be here, then. Someone might recognize us!"

"Shh."

Kurapika stared in disbelief. Kuroro was treating him like a child, and didn't seem to be concerned that his class-S mug could be identified at any moment by the very people they had trampled over just a few hours ago. He opened his mouth to try to get Kuroro to take him seriously – and it remained open, as his eyes spotted one of the reporters holding up what appeared to be rough pencil sketches of several very ugly individuals.

"… more than a hundred bodies inside the Bellagio estate. Early witness accounts state that the attack may have been perpetrated by as many as twenty-five heavily-armed men. These are sketches of some of the culprits, as described by some of the survivors. What they were after is unclear at this point, but our sources say that at least half of the main vault's contents are missing. This is the latest in a bizarre string of robberies…"

" 'Twenty-five heavily armed men'?" Kurapika whispered incredulously. "Those sketches don't look anything at all like us. Not even Nobunaga's _that_ hideous!"

"False witness accounts," Kuroro said with a somewhat satisfied air. He was understandably pleased that the police still didn't know of the Geneiryodan's involvement in the Bellagio massacre. Strangely, Kurapika was the one who felt irked – maybe even a bit insulted that the newscasters were getting their identities wrong. The last thing he needed right now was to see his face appearing on national television as a wanted felon, of course, but hearing and seeing himself being identified as something that looked like a hairy Neanderthal was most definitely affronting.

"None of the guards could have regained consciousness that quickly, not even the ones you knocked out," Kuroro continued. "I'm not sure what Lyros is getting at, but if they want to keep this matter private, it's fine by me as well."

"You mean they're giving out false information on purpose?"

"Possibly." Kuroro looked around, and then nodded to himself. "Wait here," he ordered.

"What are you doing?" Kurapika hissed.

Kuroro wordlessly took his coat off and handed it to Kurapika, and Kurapika, as ordered, stayed rooted to a spot just outside the circle of the main crowd, where he had a clear line of sight to what Kuroro was about to do.

Fact: The Ryodan were quite accomplished at passing themselves off as other people. Even Franklin, whose huge physique made him stick out like a sore thumb, could blend in with the right clothes and a few props. The Geneiryodan were frighteningly good at stealing and killing, but what was truly frightening about that aspect was that they could do it without anyone seeing the crime until it was too late. The York Shin operation, with all the noise and commotion that it had caused, had been intentionally loud because the group wanted to make a point, because they wanted to send a message to Ubogin's killer, and because their attack had been meant to draw the authorities to the fake bodies Coltopi had prepared. But in the end they had still stolen all the auction's artifacts from right under the mafia's collective noses by dressing up as employees of the auction house. Kurapika himself had met some of them face-to-face when he had claimed the pair of Eyes – another copy courtesy of Coltopi, he later learned – he had bid on, and he hadn't recognized them.

Kurapika wasn't too belligerent to admit that the Ryodan were good at disguising themselves. He just had no idea how good they were, if he had to rate them on a scale of one to ten. After today, though, he'd probably have to give Kuroro at least a nine.

Because he was watching Kuroro closely, he saw every move the man made. First, Kuroro reached up and casually raked a hand through his hair, effectively disheveling it to a state that made him look as if he'd just woken up. Then he fiddled with his clothes – he wore a plain white long-sleeved shirt and dark trousers under his leather coat. A cuff and a button opened here, a shirttail partially pulled out and a collar pulled up there, and his clothes looked like he'd slept in them. Next, he slouched, and developed a wobbly step to his gait. Finally, he assumed an eager but slightly confused expression.

Right before Kurapika's eyes and without a costume, without makeup or props, Kuroro transformed himself from the classy, cocky, self-confident gang leader into the common phenomenon known as the seriously inebriated office worker. He also looked like someone who had something interesting to share. The nearest female reporter fell for it hook, line and sinker.

"Excuse me! Excuse me! Sir?"

Kuroro even pretended not to hear her so the reporter had to call him several times.

"Y'mean me? Whaddaya want?"

"Sir… you're drunk. Where did you come from?"

"I..." Kuroro scrunched his face. He looked like he was having difficulty thinking of an answer. He weakly flapped a hand at the opposite side of the street. "I went out for a couple of beers… left the bar early, dunno how I ended up sleeping here…"

The reporter leaned away. Kurapika could see her disgust, the condescending way she ran her eyes over Kuroro's clothes and his hair. If she was more observant she would have noticed that Kuroro didn't smell of alcohol, and that his clothes weren't stained the way they should be if he had really collapsed at the sidewalk.

"… Woke up sometime after midnight, I think. Heard this really loud noise, sounded like a hundred shotguns going off at the same time."

The reporter realized that she really was interviewing a witness to the heinous act of crime she was covering. Kurapika rolled his eyes at the way she now eagerly called for her cameraman. Kuroro, still pretending to have a hangover, winced visibly at the flurry of activity that had suddenly erupted around him.

"Sir, for the record, could you please repeat what you just told me?"

"Like I said, went out for a beer, took a walk, ended up on that sidewalk over there… I woke up just after midnight when I heard this noise. It was really loud, like lots of guns firing at the same time. Must've been a war zone in there."

The reporter looked impatient. It seemed that she was waiting for Kuroro to repeat what he had said, word for word, but knew that a drunkard had to be prodded to give her the scoop she wanted. "How many guns did it sound like?" she prompted.

"I dunno, maybe ninety, a hundred? It went on, too, for 'bout a minute or so. I heard nothing after that."

The reporter didn't say anything for a few seconds, perhaps waiting for Kuroro to say more, but when it was clear that he didn't have anything else to add, she pulled her microphone back to her, thanked Kuroro, and turned to the camera.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. We have a witness here stating that at some point after midnight, close to a hundred guns were fired simultaneously and continuously for a minute. This implies that the men who attacked the Bellagio mansion were indeed heavily-armed and that there may have been as many as ninety or a hundred of them. Workers are still pulling bodies from the rooms of the mansion, and the police have started to investigate the matter, but at this point all we know for certain is that the culprits need to be found and arrested as soon as possible."

"You're evil," Kurapika muttered to Kuroro as the older man sauntered back to him.

Kuroro's hair was still mussed, and with his slouched posture and rumpled clothes, he looked like a different person altogether. He had stopped slurring his speech, though, and his amused chuckle was both familiar and comforting. "I take comments like yours as compliments, you know."

Kurapika ignored the comeback. He wasn't going to be derailed from his current line of thought. "Why, for the love of all things holy, did you do that? Just because you were reported dead in York Shin doesn't mean that you won't be recognized here."

"Misdirection," Kuroro repeated. "If you haven't noticed yet, my little speech has just aggravated those ridiculous rumors. The loud noise I reportedly heard, which was Franklin shooting his fingers off, is quite real, though, and Lyros will most certainly spot that. But by the time they do, we'll be long gone."

"What makes you so sure that they won't see that report now?" Kurapika fired back.

"Shalnark and I are _sure_," Kuroro paused for emphasis, "that only the top executives know what I really look like, and I doubt that they spend their mornings surfing through news channels. They probably have grunts watching the news reports for anything interesting. Those grunts will see me, think of me as a misfit with a hangover, and dismiss me outright. If someone should recognize me, it won't be for a few hours."

"And then what?"

"And then they'll waste time trying to retrace my trail from here. If they'd already sent people out on what they may have assumed to be my possible paths to Shooting Star, they'll waste even more time recalling everyone."

"But what is the point of all this?"

Kuroro stopped walking, as if the question startled him. He folded his arms and tilted his head. Then he straightened his neck and grinned. "For a number of reasons. I was trying to buy us more time. Throw Lyros off our tail. Sow chaos and confusion and fear." Kurapika listened incredulously as the reasons became more and more outlandish. "That was also the watered-down, PG-13 version of flipping the finger at that man who attacked you. And lastly – call it shallow if you will – I wanted to see how I look like on television."

Kurapika closed his eyes in dismay. _I am following a madman_, he thought. Indeed, maybe following was the only thing he could do now. Trying to second-guess Kuroro's actions and motives would just give him an unwelcome headache. So when Kurapika opened his eyes and Kuroro beckoned, he followed, past streets lined with residences and blocks of apartment complexes. Kuroro led him through back lanes and alleyways, which might have been shortcuts, because in no time at all they were walking down a busy thoroughfare, one of the many that crisscrossed the city's commercial district.

The clothing boutiques all looked the same, with futuristic facades, elegant window displays, and names like Velo and Aeterno and Triumpho.

They were also open, every single one of them, and were doing brisk business despite the early hour. Kurapika glanced at a store front and dully read the proud announcement declaring the store to be part of the only avenue in the entire city whose shops stayed open for twenty-four hours.

He didn't care how good his dark-haired companion was at shoplifting; if they tried to attempt anything remotely Geneiryodan-like, they'd surely be caught. Kuroro wouldn't dare steal anything on this street in broad daylight, would he?

"Don't be so skittish."

Kurapika jumped. Kuroro had leaned down to whisper the reassurance in his ear.

"I'm not."

"You're actually quite transparent, you know," Kuroro said with the faint hint of a smile. "You're worried that I'm going to pull a York Shin here and kill everyone in sight, all for a few articles of clothing."

Kurapika flushed for what felt like the tenth time that day, mortified that the man had read him so easily.

"Relax," Kuroro repeated. "I'm not going to steal anything."

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"You wound me. I'll be paying for both our purchases, in case you haven't realized it yet. Here –" Kuroro pulled Kurapika into a men's clothing store, seemingly chosen randomly out of all the shops they could enter. "This one looks suitably discreet…"

Kurapika looked around the interior of the store. Whoever had designed it favored dark paneling with cream highlights, ceiling-to-floor mirrors, and soft lighting. Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps, and all the fabric on display absorbed the echoes of conversation. Its windows were heavily tinted, to block light from the outside, and people looking in wouldn't see much of anything except for shadowed figures.

It was actually quite comfortable in the store – it was roomy and secluded and soothingly quiet. Kurapika wondered why there were no customers around. Then he spotted a square of cardboard peeking out from the sleeve of one of the suits being displayed, brightly white against the expanse of black, and he saw the line of digits written on it…

Kurapika blanched. A formal jacket that would sell for at most fifty thousand zenny in normal stores was being sold for five times as much in this one. Even Nostrad would think twice before setting foot here. He hurried deeper into the store, where the manager had already approached Kuroro.

"We'll choose the clothes ourselves," Kuroro was saying, "Frankly, I'd rather have them custom-made, but we're in a hurry. Our flight leaves in an hour… You understand, don't you?"

"Of course, sir," the manager said, all the while bent in a half-bow. His features were unremarkable, forgettable… Kurapika thought that he resembled Satotsu, one of the officials in his Hunter Exam, only with a visible mouth and flatter, thinner hair. The man retreated some steps away, far enough to be unobtrusive and out of earshot, but still near enough to wait on them if they needed assistance.

So 'discreet' meant that the store's employees wouldn't talk if questioned about their customers. It probably served the upper class, like celebrities and businessmen who didn't want their movements known to the public. Kuroro hadn't chosen randomly, after all.

Kurapika gave a long-suffering sigh and held his arms out to take hold of the V-necked shirt Kuroro was wagging at him. A pair of jeans followed, and a pair of socks, then underpants, and a sports jacket…

They left the store thirty minutes later, wearing more than a million zenny's worth of clothes between them – paid for, unsurprisingly, using a credit card attached to a bank account under a false name. Kuroro had assured him that the account was perfectly legal and that only the name wasn't real. Whether the contents of the dubious account were legitimate, though, he didn't say.

Kurapika had felt lost and confused among the racks of ludicrously-priced clothing, forcing Kuroro to shop for the two of them. The Geneiryodan head had good taste, though. He had chosen dark colors and simple styles for himself and his younger companion, colors meant to blend into crowds and earthy backgrounds, and styles that were unassuming but tasteful. The clothes were comfortable, too, made of a thick, sturdy fabric that felt light and cool. They were quite well-suited for travel.

Kurapika liked his new clothes, but he wasn't sure if he approved of the splurging Kuroro had just done. There was also that nagging feeling that he was accumulating a substantial debt…

"What now?" Kurapika asked.

Kuroro smirked. The light in his eyes was unholy and full of mischief.

"Now we steal a car."

---ooOOOoo---

"Say that again?"

Leorio winced. He looked around for something to hide behind, but the empty lot really was empty in the literal sense of the word. There was just dirt, and scraggly clumps of grass and the occasional wildflower. Not even a tree trunk, or a bush, or garbage bins or rusty old bikes.

He took a deep breath to gather his courage and tried again – "tried" being the operative word, as his voice came out in a barely audible squeak. "I want a power that will help me defeat stronger opponents," he was able to mumble.

A few meters away, Senritsu resignedly covered her eyes. Leorio hated distressing his friend like this – and he'd even promised her and Gon and Killua that he wouldn't try to imitate what Kurapika had done with his nen – but he couldn't help it. Faced with a capable master, one who had ridiculous strength and ability despite her appearance, he couldn't help but jump at the chance to see if it was possible to obtain a power far greater than what his body was currently capable of.

"Let me get this straight," Menchi said with deceptive calm. "You refuse to carry out the exercises I assigned to you, because they're all focused on refining your control over the releasing aspect of your nen. You want me to tell you how to increase your capability for either the strengthening or the specialization aspect, even if I've told you a thousand times that it's impossible to change your hatsu?"

Leorio's stomach dropped to his knees. His request sounded utterly ridiculous when put that way.

"Well?" his irate nen instructor demanded.

"Uh. Yeah."

In retrospect, Leorio confirmed three things, facts that had been niggling away at his mind ever since he had restarted his nen training. One was that he seemed to be a sucker for pain. He brought almost everything upon himself, by wishing to become a doctor, by joining the Hunter Examinations, and by falling in love with someone so far and so unattainable in his current state that it would be less taxing on his nerves to just abstain from sex for the rest of his life, rather than to try to pursue that love.

Two was that he had himself to blame for his current predicament. He knew that Menchi had a volatile personality, one that he remembered very well from his Hunter Exam. He knew that she was skilled. He also had no idea where his previous master was, and had neglected to ask for a contact number before leaving for York Shin, and after Gon and Killua immersed themselves in the Greed Island game, Leorio realized that he had to find a new instructor – immediately, if he wanted to continue his nen training and get stronger as quickly as possible. So when he saw the gastrologer one day at a restaurant, Leorio impulsively asked if she would agree to train him.

… and three, and this he thought somewhat detachedly as he found himself being lifted into the air – Menchi knew how to use wrestling throws.

It was a suplex this time, masterfully executed, and Leorio dropped headfirst to the ground behind Menchi's feet. A move like that wouldn't have hurt him, but it was enough of a jolt to underline the points Menchi was now yelling at him.

"What did I tell you about disobeying my orders? Do you really think that playing truant would change the makeup of your nen? You haven't mastered your own _hatsu_ yet, and you're already asking for the impossible! You won't get stronger if you don't go through the basics first!"

"There's a shortcut –"

"There are no shortcuts to true strength! Unless you're not telling me everything and you're some kind of a genius…"

Leorio listened dourly from his sprawl on the ground. She was right, of course. He was weaker than Gon, weaker than Killua, and weaker than Kurapika. Both younger boys had trained diligently, single-mindedly, for close to six months. He, on the other hand, had been distracted by his studies and hadn't trained extensively enough to develop his own _hatsu_ technique.

And Kurapika… well, Kurapika was a genius, that much was certain. The norm didn't apply to him. The norm was for people who didn't have a secret legacy, or an immense inner reserve of strength, or a vow so potent that it could literally squeeze the life out of beating hearts.

But Leorio didn't want a normal training, or a normal _hatsu_. Average simply wouldn't be enough if he wanted to get Kurapika back from the Geneiryodan.

Menchi huffed. She could see the stubborn set of her student's jaw clearly and knew that he wasn't convinced. If he needed something stronger to knock his perceptions askew, then, she had no choice but to give it to him, no matter how earth-shattering it may be.

"Examinee number four-oh-four, is it?"

"Huh?"

"Four-oh-four. That boy who fought against Hisoka in the last exam. He's the reason why you want to get stronger, isn't he?"

Leorio jumped up, just missing hitting his head against Menchi's chin. "What! But how –" Acting on a sudden suspicion, he quickly looked at Senritsu, but the woman looked as surprised as he was.

"Chairman Netero knows us Hunters better than you think."

"You've been watching us?" Leorio sputtered.

"I have better things to do than baby-sitting newbies, dummy," Menchi scoffed. "But the Chairman usually keeps tabs on new Hunters. He says that this year's graduates are especially feisty. Some might even try to run after targets totally out of their league. Case in point," the gastrologer declared, and she pointed at him – as they were standing only a few feet apart, her finger came to rest at the bridge of his nose so that he momentarily went cross-eyed trying to focus on it out of reflex.

Leorio couldn't tell what 'target' she was referring to – Kurapika or the Geneiryodan. He decided that it would be better not to beg for a clarification. "He knows about York Shin?" he asked instead. "But then why didn't he stop them from doing all those horrible things? Why didn't he save Kurapika?"

"As a rule the Hunter Association can't interfere with what its Hunters do once they pass the exams. The Chairman won't do anything either, unless it's a problem that threatens the world's stability as a whole. Your friend chose his path, so he has to deal with the consequences himself."

"But – but that's cruel! That's –"

"He's _fine_."

Leorio frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your friend is fine," Menchi repeated firmly, but not unkindly. "Chairman Netero's watching him even more closely than he's watching the rest of you. He won't let Kurapika die. It totally goes against the rules, but they're making an exception in his case. He's the last confirmed Kuruta alive. He's not only a Hunter; he's also a living artifact. He's as safe as he can be without being locked up and hidden on an isolated island somewhere."

"You call being with the Geneiryodan 'safe?' "

Menchi bristled at hearing his rising tone of voice. "Boy, I don't know what nightmares you've been coming up with, but they're all wrong. Think about it. If the Geneiryodan wanted one partially-trained Kuruta dead, they would have killed him weeks ago. The last I heard, he's still alive, and he's getting along quite well with the Ryodan."

Leorio's head reeled at the implications of Menchi's revelations – that people from the Hunter Association have been watching him, that the placement of nen instructors everywhere weren't coincidences as Hunter candidates initially believed them to be, that old man Netero had stood aside and let Kurapika be taken by the Geneiryodan –

_They knew where Kurapika was._

"Where is he?" Leorio demanded.

"I don't know," Menchi answered bluntly. "Only the Chairman and his personal assistants do. And don't you go charging up to the Head Office to ask him about it either, because I doubt that he'd tell you."

Leorio gave her a look that plainly said, "You think that's going to stop me?"

She replied first with a smirk – a scary smirk, one that promised infinite pain and suffering should he follow up on his threat. Then she said, "I'll break your spine if I have to. Your place is here. You have to train your nen, hone your abilities, and continue your medical studies. You'll fall behind otherwise."

Leorio opened his mouth to say something else, to defend his position, to force her to tell him what he wanted to know, but he knew that he had run out of things to say. She couldn't possibly understand why his heart pounded, why his gut churned, why he remained stubborn in his belief that he had to surpass the Geneiryodan in power and skill…

"Your hatsu has the potential to be amazing, you know," Menchi said suddenly.

A statement like that would have exhilarated him any other day, but right now Leorio felt too drained to muster anything more than a startled stare.

"Emission types can have offensive skills," the gastrologer continued. "It's just that your background is pushing you to come up with a skill that would complement your calling in life, which is to help people as a doctor. I understand why you'd want a more explosive rather than a plain old healing skill, but to rebel against that calling would be like denying your own existence. Plus, if you keep that mindset, you won't be able to develop your primary _hatsu_ to its full capacity."

"All right, all right, I get it already," Leorio grumbled.

Menchi smiled. Leorio's gruff exterior didn't fool her. She could tell that he was secretly delighted at being told about his abilities. He was so ridiculously easy to read that she had known at once what buttons to push to motivate him.

She wasn't lying, though. She couldn't have, not with Senritsu watching and listening just a few feet away.

"Now, continue where you left off yesterday. If I catch you slacking off again I'll have you in a headlock so fast you won't be walking straight for weeks!"

Leorio wearily prepared for another afternoon of mind-numbing meditation exercises. He tried to psyche himself by thinking that Gon and Killua had gone through the same torture before getting to where they were now – and it worked somewhat, as thinking of his friends never failed to calm him.

But then he came to Kurapika, and he looked up to see Menchi sternly standing sentry over him, Senritsu nodding encouragingly at him from her perch on her little foldable chair, and he half-heartedly lamented the bizarre turn his life had taken, that having two ladies watching him so closely now didn't please him as much as it would have half a year ago.

--- end of chapter sixteen ---

notes:

Before anyone asks, no, I am not going to pair Leorio with Menchi. I'm not _that_ cruel.

And yes, I am still alive. I'm finally done with my thesis, I'm graduating in June, and I (theoretically) should be able to write one chapter a week, if I can write at least a thousand words a day, like I've done the past few days. Don't get your hopes up too much, though. Now that I'm done with school, I am officially jobless, and thus have to turn my thoughts towards money-making, despite my intense hatred for the office environment. That means I have to start writing books.

But since WH _is_ my baby, I'll probably end up finishing this first before starting anything serious.

The store names are all made-up. I don't know if there are any real stores called Velo, Aeterno, or Triumpho – I just picked those out from a Latin dictionary. I wanted names that would go with Bellagio, so humor my wish to have this current nameless city based on Italy, okay?

This chapter is dedicated to the people on my LiveJournal friends list, who patiently read my rants and complaints, and the people who responded to my posts about my writing. All the pretty reviews helped, too. You gave me the push I needed to finish the second half of this chapter. If not for your reassurances and encouragements, I wouldn't have been motivated enough to get back to writing. Thank you!

May 16, 2006


	17. Roadtrip

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Kurapika finds out about one of Kuroro's methods for refueling cars in the absence of a convenient gas station, and Kuroro starts to break the seal on Kurapika's nen.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and nasty pranks on canon-fodder characters.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm a jobless college graduate.

**A/N :** This chapter is one of the most heavily-edited to date. I had to force myself to delete unnecessary paragraphs, and rewrite several lines and transitions. My work will never be perfect, but this chapter is mostly spick-and-span due to the efforts of my lovely beta-readers, Yukitsu and Mistress 259.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 17 – Roadtrip

It was amazing how a straight highway seemed to stretch on endlessly into the horizon, so that one could see neither the start nor the end of it. They were like the long journeys they so often inspired; you knew where you started from, and at the very least had a vague idea of where you would end, but you wouldn't be able to see both points from where you were at the middle. The bigger continents were crisscrossed with such highways, both straight and curving and all nicely paved with even cement, man-made paths that cut through the vast expanse of the landscape like flat, gray snakes winding through a very large piece of real-estate.

Kuroro had sped through such highways before, and he had seen enough of the horizon to fill a fat coffee table book on geography, so the idea of boundless, uncultivated landmasses didn't unsettle him. In fact, he liked wide, open spaces. He could blend into cities well enough, either alone or with other Ryodan, but there was always a chance that the police or enterprising bounty hunters would recognize him. Out in the country there was just the wind, the sun, and anything else nature might want to throw at him…

… Which included Kurapika, with his usual brooding silence and occasional sideways looks. Right now the blond was staring out of the window unhappily, frowning at something Kuroro couldn't see from the driver's seat. His hands were folded loosely on his lap, although now and again one would clench and the other would close over it, and both would open a minute later.

Kurapika was clearly worrying over something, and Kuroro had a very good idea what it was. He'd have to address it, if only to lessen the boy's unease with their situation.

"Is anything wrong?"

As he'd expected, the simple question easily broke through Kurapika's despondent mood. The blond turned incredulous eyes to him.

"You – we – just stole a billion-zenny car!" Kurapika sputtered. "You can't keep doing this!"

"Doing what?"

Kuroro was good at pulling an innocent face. It was probably the eyes – he had large, dark eyes, and he could make them as limpid as he needed them to be. It worked well enough on strangers, but unfortunately, Kurapika already knew him well enough to tell if he was faking an expression.

"Stealing – and showing off at the same time!" Kurapika exclaimed. _His_ blue eyes were flashing with anger and pent-up frustration. "I had resigned myself to the fact that I can't do anything to stop your thieving habits, but must you choose the most expensive car in the city every time you want a vehicle?"

Kuroro blinked, torn between surprise and a sense of accomplishment. He'd expected some kind of complaint over his brazen theft of the car – which they'd purloined right out of the owner's garage – but not one so particular. Kurapika was almost nitpicking. And whether the younger man realized it or not, he'd just admitted that he'd come to accept the Geneiryodan way of life, or at least, had grown to tolerate his caretaker's disregard for legal authority. It was a very welcome sign that Kuroro's efforts over the past six weeks had paid off.

"You're worried that a car this exclusive would be easier to track down, aren't you?" he said slowly.

Kurapika didn't answer, but his frown deepened into a scowl. He _was_ worried, and with reason – the more expensive cars would certainly have trackers installed upon their manufacture. Kuroro had made sure to remove the tiny chip and leave it behind in the garage, however. They'd been careful not to touch anything with their bare hands, either. The theft _would_ be discovered, but it wouldn't be connected to the Geneiryodan, because as far as the public knew, half of the Phantom Brigade had been killed in York Shin City, and the rest sent scattering with their tails between their legs.

"Well, don't be," he continued. "We'll leave the car behind if I think that it's dragging us down. Although… it _is_ worth a billion zennies. It'd be a shame to ditch it. I could store it and take it with us to Shooting Star…"

Kurapika exhaled noisily, the closest Kuroro thought he'd come to throwing his hands up in exasperation. That was the general idea – to whittle away at the blond's defenses with his natural charm and wit, a little bit at a time. And it was working; the boy probably now saw him more as a maddening conundrum of a guardian, and less as the evil, remorseless and immoral gang leader first impression made him out to be.

"Why do you think I keep doing this?"

Kurapika looked at him, and his scowl turned back into a mild frown, more thoughtful than displeased. "Because you believe that you can get away with it," he replied promptly, almost instantly. The boy must have had the answer ready long before their current conversation.

"That, and because habits ingrained over a lifetime are notoriously hard to break – and not for lack of trying," he emphasized with a firm look thrown at the blond, who he knew had been about to comment on his habits. "I tried to go legal when I was your age, before I formed the Geneiryodan. Unfortunately, the very nature of Shooting Star City makes it impossible for any legal enterprise to survive more than a few weeks."

This time it was Kurapika's turn to blink in surprise, Kuroro's revelation that he'd actually tried his hand at an honest job no doubt giving him much to think about. Startling the boy into silence wasn't hard to do because of the rigid way he categorized actions into only the two universal groups. That was what Kuroro needed to break down, or at the very least weaken – the inflexible barrier dividing the blond's world into what was right and what was wrong.

"I've been doing this for more than a decade, Kurapika. Just leave the logistics to me and concentrate on getting your nen back."

Kurapika remained quiet after that, although he didn't seem unhappy anymore. For a short while they drove on in companionable silence, the miles slipping by under the wheels of their stolen car, which had an engine powerful enough to get a small plane into the air and back on the ground in one piece. Kuroro didn't just choose it because it had a posh interior – although the black leather seat covering was a very nice feature indeed. He began thinking of ways to get the blond to admit that the seats, at least, were sinfully comfortable…

"What did you do?" the Kuruta abruptly asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What did you do?" Kurapika repeated. "When you tried to go legal. What job did you choose?"

"I worked at a stripper bar," Kuroro deadpanned, then smirked as the blond gaped at him in scandalized horror. He shrugged unconcernedly. "Hey, it paid good money, for a job that didn't take much effort, and believe me, it was one of the tamest professions I could find at that time."

Kurapika gave a sort of strangled groan, and tried to hide the blush rising up his neck – unsuccessfully – by turning his face away. The additional color really looked good on him, Kuroro decided, with his pale skin and light hair. The Kuruta looked like he'd tan easily, although they hadn't had the chance to test the assumption yet. Maybe they could take a short side trip, and he could drag the boy to a beach somewhere, just to see if his skin would darken.

"Oh hey, I nearly forgot." He reached into his pocket and took out a small black box. "Here."

"What?"

"Put it on."

With most of his attention still on the empty road in front of them, Kuroro watched Kurapika from the corner of his eye. The boy carefully opened the box and tilted it so that the contents caught the light and reflected it back onto the upholstery and the roof of the car.

"What's this?" Kurapika's face was still beet-red, but he had recovered some of his composure to be properly curious about the gift.

"It's a bracelet. Or an anklet, depending on how you want to use it. There's a long length of links at one end so you can adjust where you close the clasp."

"I know what it is," Kurapika said impatiently. "But what is it for?"

Kuroro smiled, amused at the boy's confusion. "You can't do _ren_, now that your nen's been sealed. I'll try to keep an eye on you, but I can't do that twenty-four hours a day, now, can I? The sound of you moving about will help me keep track of your position."

The bracelet was simple, moderately priced considering that it was made of silver, with twelve tiny bells, grouped in pairs, as its only adornment. The bells tinkled musically with the slightest movement, but because they were so small, the sound they made was muted, ringing at the very edges of hearing. Most people wouldn't notice it, especially if they had to hear it against the backdrop of everyday human noise, but Kuroro was sure that he could learn to listen for it.

"Where did you get this? We didn't stop by any jewelry shop."

"There was one across the street from Primo," Kuroro replied, referring to the store where they had bought their clothes. "I had one of the manager's assistants run out and get it for me while you were changing." He hadn't bothered to remember the name of the jewelry shop, but he did note that its gaudily-decorated windows weren't reinforced and could easily be knocked over with a well-placed kick.

"I paid for it, of course," he added, a bit defensively, when Kurapika looked at him askance.

"You mean you gave the clerk a wad of cash and told him to grab anything that would make a noise?"

"Something like that, yes."

"You trust quite readily, for someone who robs other people on a regular basis," Kurapika muttered. He gave the bracelet a light shake, winced at the tinkle the action produced, and then gingerly put it on his left wrist.

Kuroro opened his mouth, to suggest that maybe it was because he was a good judge of character, but his words died away as the car started to slow down. He frowned, and stepped harder on the accelerator, to no avail; the vehicle's speed continued to drop, and they eventually rolled to a ponderous stop at the side of the road.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop?"

"I didn't." Kuroro peered at the dashboard and looked for the problem. The fuel empty indicator was blinking. "We've run out of gas," he announced.

"Gas?" Kurapika echoed in alarm. "You don't run out of gas in the middle of a highway!"

Kuroro opened the door on his side and got out of the car, leaving his passenger to lean over and stare at the blinking indicator. "But we're miles away from the city!" Kurapika exclaimed. "Kuroro!"

They'd traveled a fair distance into the country and were literally in the middle of nowhere. To their right and left was brushland, as far as they could make out, and not a single man-made structure could be seen, aside from the towering concrete telephone poles lining the sides of the highway. The nearest gas station was at least a hundred kilometers away, in the city that now resembled a dark smudge on the horizon behind them.

"I said that we should have refueled before leaving the city, didn't I? I mean, who in their right minds would go on a road trip without first filling their tanks to full capacity?" Kuroro didn't answer, and walked around to the back of the car to open the trunk. Kurapika scrambled out after him, his new bracelet chiming with the agitation of his movements. "Did you even check the fuel gauge when I told you to?"

"Yes, dear," Kuroro said teasingly. He earned a vicious scowl for his effort. He coughed, and said instead, "Like _I_ told you, I didn't want to risk being caught on the security cameras that all gas stations seem to be packing nowadays. That's one of the first things police will check when an expensive vehicle is reported stolen. Relax, all right? I've planned for this situation."

"Did you, now? What –" Kurapika stopped in mid-rant, bewildered, as Kuroro pulled out a large metal box from within the trunk. "The toolbox you took from the garage?"

The box was dusty with disuse and opened with the earsplitting metallic screech of hinges protesting the lack of adequate lubrication. Kuroro rummaged around its contents, pushing aside a tire iron, some spare spark plugs, and several wrenches and assorted bolts and nuts. He gave a satisfied grunt as he found the item he was looking for at the bottom of the pile, and straightened, holding what appeared to be a coil of transparent plastic hose.

"I'd considered the eventuality that we'd run out of gas, so I took the liberty of arming ourselves with this."

The hose was standard issue, six meters long and about an inch in diameter. It could be used to transfer liquids from one container to another, by placing one end into the source container and sucking through the other end to draw the liquid into the tube. Kuroro had a feeling that Kurapika knew the theory behind the siphoning action, and could probably give a lecture on the spot about hydrostatic force and fluid mechanics if asked to explain, but he doubted that the boy had ever seen it being applied on real vehicles before.

"A hose for siphoning petroleum? But there's nothing to siphon."

Kuroro clucked his tongue, closed the trunk, and with one hand began pushing Kurapika toward the side of the car that faced the highway. "Once again you underestimate my resourcefulness," he lamented with an overly dramatic air.

"I'm just being realistic" the blond protested, annoyed at being forced to move, but he let himself be maneuvered to a spot beside the driver side door, which Kuroro opened and left ajar. The Geneiryodan head also popped the car's hood and propped it open with the latch. The hose, he set down on the ground on the passenger side of the vehicle, where it couldn't be seen from Kurapika's position. Then, thus satisfied that their car now looked like it had really broken down due to engine trouble, he walked back to face his younger companion, and scrutinized the teen from head to toe.

"… Why are you looking at me like that?" Kurapika demanded after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Your hair has grown pretty long," Kuroro observed thoughtfully. It was the only thing that had changed in the young man's appearance, and it had grown long enough that he'd resorted to tying it back to stop it from getting in the way.

"Well, I haven't had a haircut in two months."

"Let it down," Kuroro ordered.

"What?!"

It must be some kind of bizarre vice, Kuroro thought distantly as his hand darted forward and yanked at the black hair tie before Kurapika could stall or object. Like cigarettes, or controlled substances, only much more entertaining, and he didn't have to worry about his life dwindling away each time he indulged in the addictive habit. What else could it be, if he was deriving some sort of pleasure every time he coaxed a response out of the younger man with his seemingly spontaneous actions? Kurapika's hair, now free of the confining rubber band, cascaded down like light silk threads past the boy's ears and chin, and Kuroro looked down to see the Kuruta glaring at him from behind the too-long strands.

He hid the predatory grin that threatened to give his amusement away, and calmly tucked the tie into one of his pockets. "I'll give this back to you if you manage to flag a car down," he told the seething blond, and then walked off the road to find something to hide behind.

"How the hell am I going to do that?" Kurapika yelped indignantly.

"Just stand there and act helpless!" Kuroro yelled back.

For a moment it seemed that the boy would disobey and come after him, but confusion and their current predicament stayed his hand. He didn't "act helpless", although he did look lost and uncertain, occasionally running a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. Kuroro, watching from behind a clump of sagebrush, thought – rather smugly – that he'd done well; with the new clothes, and the new bracelet, and his shoulder-length hair, Kurapika looked like a young woman from a certain angle, casually dressed for a drive out to the country, and one who didn't know how to repair her billion-zenny car. Kuroro was confident that the next driver who came along would stop on his own accord even without the blond doing anything to try to flag him down.

The highway wasn't as empty as it seemed to be at first glance. They'd been passing cars going the opposite way, at a rate of at least one vehicle every ten minutes. They saw the last one around ten minutes ago, and if his estimates were to be believed, the next one should be coming along any minute now…

Kuroro heard it first, a dull roar that sounded alien and disembodied, the roar of a car speeding down the highway at a good clip. He craned his neck and spotted something glinting in the distance, on the side of the road leading into the city. Kurapika saw it at the same time and stood a bit straighter, out of anxiety or perhaps an unconscious desire to prove that he was up to Kuroro's challenge, despite his initial reluctance to cooperate.

Kuroro materialized his Skill Book and idly flipped a few pages. He kept an eye on their target, and by memory alone found the skill he wanted. He'd considered killing the passengers of the approaching car – a decision that he normally wouldn't think twice before making, but right now he had to be careful about the image he was projecting to his companion. Routine had worked up until now; Kurapika wasn't so wary around him anymore, but he would have to change his strategy to get the boy to trust him even more.

He supposed that he could even thank the unknown Kuruta for sealing Kurapika's nen. It would be impossible for the blond to avoid depending on him, especially if Kuroro could somehow stage a crisis or two for them to get through together – nothing brings people closer like common enemies or shared problems.

The car had gotten close enough to be identified. It was a jeep converted for personal use, nearly unrecognizable under all the unnecessary trappings – additional headlights, extra antennas, camouflage nets and dizzying stripes of color along its sides, even a modified bumper outfitted with heavy-duty bars. The entire thing fairly oozed with juvenile testosterone, and as it got even closer Kuroro wrinkled his nose at the distasteful rock music blaring out of its stereos.

The jeep was now less than a hundred meters away, near enough that its driver couldn't possibly miss the sleek black car parked at the side of the road, and the lone figure standing beside it. And Kuroro could just imagine Kurapika watching in dismay as, true to his prediction, the vehicle started to slow down visibly without the blond having done anything yet.

Kuroro quickly looked down at his Skill Book, just to make sure that he really had it open at the correct page. A picture of the skill's previous owner stared up at him with hollow, dead eyes, the imaginary gaze of a gaunt man with sunken cheeks and greasy-looking hair. Kuroro repressed a shudder as his nen familiarized itself with the nature of the skill, through his fingers on the spine and the cover of the book. He masked his aura with _in_, on the off chance that someone in the approaching jeep knew how to use nen.

He looked up just as the vehicle rumbled to a stop a few feet away from their stolen car. Kurapika stood frozen, looking at the open windows and the four occupants of the jeep, who were all peering at him with various degrees of undisguised lasciviousness. The driver was a large man with a mohawk haircut and heavily pierced ears. One of the passengers in the back seat literally embodied the word "pudgy", and had a bulbous nose, bushy eyebrows, and shifty eyes, eyes that were ogling the blond unabashedly. Kuroro couldn't see the other two men, but if the ones on the near side of the car were anything to base his assumptions on, he'd say that all four were hopelessly challenged in the appearance department.

The driver leaned out, leered to reveal two gold-capped teeth, gave Kurapika a once-over, and said, "Hey, pretty lady. Whacha doin' out here all by your lonesome?"

_Ugly, most likely socially inept, and irreparably nearsighted_, Kuroro thought as the other three passengers let loose with loud hoots and wolf whistles. That was one of the worst pick-up lines he had ever heard, horribly crafted, and horribly delivered. He couldn't have hoped for a better group to victimize. He activated the skill and created four Sleep Stinger wasps, and sent them buzzing toward the jeep, still cloaked under _in_.

"Kuroro," Kurapika bit out without turning around, "If this is some kind of sick joke –"

Pudgy suddenly sat up as if he'd been shocked, and the expression in his eyes changed from lust to recognition. "Hey! You're –"

The shout never finished. All four inside the jeep flinched, paled to a pasty white, and slumped back into their seats in limp heaps. Kuroro released the _in_ cloaking his skill, so that four large insects were momentarily visible, latched on to the necks of the four men. He stopped the nen keeping the wasps solid, and they faded from view.

"Are they dead?" Kurapika asked with a curiously indifferent air.

"Just knocked out. I would have killed them if I thought that they posed a threat, but I figured that you wouldn't want them dead."

"Oh."

Kuroro looked at the young man sharply. Kurapika sounded oddly disappointed, almost as if he'd wanted Kuroro to kill the four.

"What is it?"

"I know him." Kurapika pointed at Pudgy. "He was a… fellow examinee in my Hunter exam. He liked to trick first-timers and cause them to fail."

Now that he mentioned it, the fat man did look familiar. Kuroro thought for a bit, and realized that he had seen the man before, in Kurapika's recollection. The boy's memory of the other examinee was tainted with disgust and pity, and the man – Tonpa – hadn't been important enough for the boy to remember him well.

"And you wanted him dead because of that?" he prodded.

Kurapika grit his teeth and furiously retorted, "No, I want him taught a lesson because he and his buddies are chauvinistic, pig-headed perverts!"

The sentence ended in a near-shout, and Kuroro somehow felt that the words were meant to include him. He could see how being mistaken for a girl had offended the blond and he knew that it was almost time to back down for today. Any more teasing might undo the progress he'd made in getting the boy to stop seeing him as a merciless killer.

But Kurapika was still staring angrily at the jeep and its unfortunate occupants, spine rigid and jaw set in a stubborn line. Kuroro remembered his earlier question, the one that had been cut off when Tonpa recognized him. He retrieved the hose and got back on the road, half of his mind already thinking of how to get at the jeep's petroleum with the least hassle.

"This wasn't a joke," Kuroro said, almost without preamble. Kurapika eyed him distrustfully. "I know that you dislike being thought of as a girl, but you're the only one who could have stopped a car cold like that. I _could_ do it, I suppose, but I'd have to stage an accident. A big and possibly bloody accident."

Kurapika growled inarticulately, perhaps unable to form a coherent response when faced with Kuroro's logic. But the older man was right, he _was_ able to flag a car down, and Kuroro would have to keep his promise.

"My hair tie. Give it back," he demanded.

_Ooh, scary,_ Kuroro thought.

But a promise was a promise, no matter what he thought that the younger man looked better with his hair down rather than tied back. Kuroro took the rubber band out and held it just high enough that Kurapika had to stretch a bit to snatch it out of his hand. Then, as fast as he dared without being too forceful, he grabbed Kurapika's hand around the wrist, leaned down so that they were nearly nose-to-nose with each other, and said matter-of-factly, "And in case you haven't noticed yet, you're quite beautiful. You really should learn to use your looks to your advantage."

With that, he released Kurapika's hand and turned away. He would have liked to say more, but the blond had the deer-caught-in-headlights expression of someone too flabbergasted to listen any further, so he went back to the jeep and set to work, considerately giving his companion enough time and space to recover from his daze.

---ooOOOoo---

Kurapika did forget about Kuroro being a remorseless killer, at least for the moment. He was more concerned about watching out for the next diabolical scenario that the Geneiryodan leader might try to shove him into. Kuroro had told him outright that he didn't hate him, and thus had no desire to kill him, and he _had_ been displaying an unusual amount of respect for Kurapika's dislike of killing, so the blond thought that it was more important that he keep his wits about him for now, and try not to let himself get too rattled by Kuroro's aggravating actions.

They had gotten a full tank's worth of petroleum from Tonpa's jeep, probably because the other vehicle being larger meant that it also had a larger fuel tank. Even after they'd acquired the amount they needed there had still been enough gas left for a short drive, gas that they could have siphoned out and stored in a container for future use.

Kuroro had other ideas. He'd pushed the jeep around so that it lay perpendicular to the road, started the engine, placed a heavy rock on the accelerator to keep it pressed down, released the hand brake, and let the jeep run off into the wilderness with all four of its unconscious passengers still inside.

Kurapika couldn't muster any sort of pity for the four, even though he had a feeling that they would wake up with headaches caused by whatever soporific Kuroro had given them, and find themselves far away from the main road. They would have to walk to their destination, or try to hitchhike, or do as Kuroro and Kurapika had done. Considering that they did not look trustworthy, though, Kurapika doubted that any car would stop for them. It was a nasty prank, and Kuroro had been uncharacteristically vicious about it, grinning evilly as he watched the jeep bounce away into the distance.

It was probably just his mind being too fanciful, but Kurapika somehow felt that the dark-haired man had done it on his behalf – perhaps as some kind of revenge on the four men for ogling him so blatantly. It was almost as if Kuroro was defending his honor, in his own twisted way.

Kurapika cut the ridiculous thought off before it could grow big enough to mull over. That was exactly the kind of thinking that his companion probably wanted to encourage. He was already tolerating the man's Geneiryodan persona after only a month and a half of being with him. He knew that part of it was his own fault, for letting his guard down, for letting Kuroro into his life and his thoughts, but a bigger part was the other's doing, for being so darned friendly and accommodating and _human_.

He would have to be more vigilant. Watch for signs that Kuroro was planning on doing something out of the ordinary, and then try to avoid being swept off his feet with no way of regaining his footing until after Kuroro had done stringing him along.

But the rest of the drive went by uneventfully. Kuroro played the part of the quiet chauffeur perfectly, leaving Kurapika alone for most of the afternoon. The car's seats were comfortable, and the air-conditioning system was gently refreshing after the dusty heat of the highway. Despite his promise to be vigilant he eventually relaxed enough to fall asleep. Worrying over things that were beyond his control had tired him out rather quickly.

He woke up at dusk, at that moment when the weakening rays of the setting sun and the peculiar composition of the dirt all around them combined to turn the atmosphere into an eerie dark orange color streaked with pink and violet. It lasted for only a few minutes before full dark fell. There were lights up ahead, small neon signs and bright street lamps, clumped into two groups with the highway dividing them. The lights numbered no more than fifty, illuminating the shops and inns of a way station built for the convenience of the travelers of the highway.

"We'll stop here for the night," Kuroro said when Kurapika stirred and sat up.

Kurapika blinked groggily as the other man drove right past the first of the buildings without any hint of his earlier caution.

"Shouldn't we hide this car behind a bush or something?" he mumbled.

Kuroro's lips curved in amusement. "You've been reading too many mystery novels." He pulled the wheel to the right and brought the car into a cluster of small, cheerfully-lit lodgings. "I've thought about stopping some distance away and storing the car, but we'd attract more attention if we just walked into town on foot."

Kurapika waited in the car while Kuroro got out and booked one of the units at the main office of the motor hotel. Business was brisk, and there were vehicles parked in front of many of the single-level structures, but there were a few at the middle that appeared unoccupied. Kuroro reserved one of those units, and returned with a key hanging from a yellow plastic key ring.

"Two single beds, a bathroom, a television, and a kitchenette," Kuroro announced briskly, sounding almost like a tour guide as he listed the features of their accommodation. "Err, I don't suppose you feel up to cooking dinner?" Kurapika looked at him uncomprehendingly. "I guess not. Let's order takeout, shall we?"

Takeout was food bought from a nearby fast-food restaurant, one of the many ubiquitous eateries selling stir-fried noodles and rice meals in boxes. Kuroro also ordered a local specialty, something that looked like a flat pie – a round piece of baked bread topped with a thick tomato-based sauce, grated cheese, and various ingredients of unknown origin.

Kurapika refrained from commenting on the amount of food they'd bought – he wasn't a heavy eater, and from what he knew, neither was his companion. There was always the possibility that Kuroro was feeling really hungry, though. After all, he _had_ driven almost the entire day. But when they got back to their rented motel room and Kuroro opened the box containing the pie – what the locals called a pizza pie – Kurapika took one look at the dizzying swirl of toppings and the grease staining the underside of the box, and said dubiously, "That looks healthy."

The dark-haired man ignored his sarcasm. He had already opened his own takeout box and was neatly spooning the fried rice into his mouth. "Half of _that_ is yours," he said after swallowing a mouthful of chicken.

"What?" Kurapika gaped at the half Kuroro was indicating and shook his head incredulously. "You can't be serious!"

"It's a local specialty," Kuroro pointed out, as if it was enough to justify gorging themselves on greasy pieces of weird-looking pie. "Aren't you the least bit curious? I mean, it smells really nice…"

Kurapika sniffed at the aroma wafting up from the pie and frowned. He was finding it more and more difficult to agree with Kuroro, especially after they'd argued over seemingly mundane matters. "I'll take a slice, but I can't eat an entire half!"

Kuroro snorted in reply. "Oh, trust me, you can."

Kurapika narrowed his eyes. The confidence in the older man's voice sounded a lot like the tone he'd adopted earlier that day, just before he commenced his steal-our-gas-from-a-passing-car plan.

"What do you mean?"

"I said that I'll help unseal your nen, right? I mean that you'll need to keep your energy up, and eating is one way of doing that."

Kurapika's heart started to beat faster when he realized that Kuroro was finally going to show him the way to remove the seal on his nen. But the man was being annoyingly vague again, probably waiting for him to ask for more details. He took a deep breath and gave his hands something to do by starting in on his own dinner. "Please explain," he said as politely as he could manage.

Kuroro set his plastic spoon and fork down on the kitchen counter and leaned back in his chair. There was a half-smile still playing around his lips, as if he knew exactly how hard it was for Kurapika to curb his impatience. The blond asked himself privately, and not for the first time, if his mission to recover his clan's eyes was really worth the trouble of allying himself with the leader of the Geneiryodan.

Fortunately for Kurapika's sanity, his companion seemed to be in a talkative mood and only needed to be prompted to divulge what he knew. "For a person to be able to use nen, he has to have a natural ability for it, and he has to learn to open his body's _shouko_," Kuroro explained. "There are two ways in which this can be done. One is the slower method, which takes months of training and meditation, and the other is the shortcut, in which the _shouko_ are forcibly opened by another nen user. You had to go with the shortcut, if I remember correctly?"

Kurapika nodded. He had specifically asked for the quickest way to learn nen, much to his teacher's disapproval. The man preferred the slower, surer way of doing things, and had wanted him to awaken his nen via the slow method, but he relented when Kurapika had repeatedly refused to listen to his advice.

"As you might have been told by your master, the shortcut is significantly more dangerous because it depends on a person's ability to control his own aura immediately after the _shouko_ are opened. If you can't control your aura in time, it will continue to gush out until there's none of it left, and you'll die. The long method is also more effective in the long run, because it allows you to familiarize yourself with your nen more fully…"

Yes, his master had definitely outlined the risks of the shortcut method, grisly details and all, and Kurapika had taken note of them dutifully, but the warnings hadn't mattered in the end as he'd taken full control of his aura mere seconds after his nen was awakened. Nen awakenings and the dangers of the shortcut method were common knowledge to nen users, so why was Kuroro telling him about them now…?

"There are several ways in which nen can be sealed," Kuroro continued, "And it would take me too long to go through each of them in detail, but I can tell you that most methods involve using _zetsu_ in one way or another. Your Chain Jail is an example of that."

There was something about the way Kuroro was choosing his words – they were careful, deliberate, _measured_, somehow, despite the light and relaxed tone he'd adopted – that smacked of concealment. The man was trying not to alarm him by telling him only what he needed to know.

"'Most methods', you mean –"

"Your nen's been frozen. Or part of it, at least. I've encountered element-based abilities, or skills that caused physical afflictions, but it's the first time I've ever seen nen actually being frozen."

Kuroro's voice had remained steady and level throughout his explanations, but now there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes – though not the deceptive kind. Kurapika relaxed. Kuroro wasn't lying to him.

"The most accurate analogy I can think of is a stream," the dark-haired man continued, unaware that he was being weighed and judged by Kuruta eyes, "A stream that's been partly frozen, so that water can't flow through it properly. But nen can't be frozen, of course," he added hurriedly. "Not literally frozen as in turned to ice…"

"I understand what you're trying to say," Kurapika said when Kuroro trailed off, and he stifled a smile at the rare sight of the Geneiryodan head fumbling for an explanation. "But how are you going to unseal my nen if it hasn't been sealed in a conventional manner?"

Kuroro readily took the escape from the need for further explanation that Kurapika's question offered. "I'll – well, unfreeze, for lack of a better term – unfreeze your nen by getting my own aura to flow through your body. Like using running water to melt a block of ice. It will be similar to the shortcut method of nen awakening, only we'll have to go at it slowly, everyday for at least two to three weeks."

"Why would it take so long?"

"Like I said, it's the first time I've come across a case such as yours. I don't want to risk harming you by rushing it. We have the time so we can afford to be careful."

Kuroro was telling him only the gist of what had to be done, and Kurapika would have liked to know more, but he had to admit that the theory behind the suggestion was sound. But again, the lack of information – and that tiny bit of indecision Kurapika was sensing in Kuroro's demeanor was worrying. He may have decided to place his trust in the older man, but that didn't mean that he was going to stop asking questions.

"Are you sure that you can do it?" Kurapika asked doubtfully. "No offense, but you don't look like the type to know about all this."

Kuroro pouted. Kurapika blinked. He couldn't have imagined that his companion was capable of making such a childish expression.

"That's cruel," Kuroro huffed. "I'll have you know that I helped most of the Ryodan with their nen training. I'll get your nen unsealed, don't worry."

"Is this why you wanted to choose the longer route to Shooting Star?"

Kuroro picked up his spoon and resumed eating his dinner. "Yes, well, I thought that with such a delicate procedure, it would be best not to have Nobunaga around whining about your presence every five minutes."

"And the extra food?"

"I'll be running my nen through you, and back to me. You, on the other hand, will be doing _ten_. While it doesn't sound difficult, your task is harder than mine since you'll be dealing with both of our nen. We'll have to recover the energy we'll be expending, so we'll either fall asleep immediately afterwards, or feel an urge to stuff ourselves with food."

Kurapika grimaced as Kuroro's description brought up images of the two of them wolfing down insane amounts of food. "That doesn't sound pleasant," he muttered in an undertone, then he raised his voice and said, "I still don't understand what it is I have to do. How will I do _ten_ if I can't use nen?"

"It _is_ a bit hard to comprehend," Kuroro mumbled around his spoon. "I guess it's better to do the explaining during the hands-on, after all. We can start now if you want."

"Right now?"

"If you're done eating, that is."

"I am," Kurapika said, and he quickly but discreetly swallowed what remaining rice there was in his mouth. He mirrored Kuroro's actions earlier and set his box of food down, neatly laying his plastic fork and plastic spoon across the opening.

"Are you sure?" Kuroro asked. There were still several spoonfuls left in Kurapika's takeout box. It looked like he had eaten only two-thirds of his meal.

"Yes. I'm not that hungry. And I can just eat again later."

Kuroro frowned, and Kurapika was suddenly reminded of how his master would look at him reproachfully whenever he overexerted himself, or missed supper because he'd been training too hard. It wasn't as if he was starving himself on purpose, he sulked inwardly, and he stopped at the thought, surprised at how swiftly the black mood had come up from out of nowhere. His emotions had been roller-coasting at the oddest of times as of late…

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the Geneiryodan leader groused. "All right, then. Sit down on the bed and take your shirt off."

Kurapika bit his tongue at the protest that automatically threatened to leap out at the order. It wouldn't do to raise a ruckus each time Kuroro asked him to do something, no matter how odd his requests were. But some of his dislike must have shown on his face, because Kuroro's eyes were glinting again, almost twinkling in barely disguised amusement.

"Skin-on-skin contact is best when working with nen that has to be moved between people. I could take your hands, but I've found that the back is easier to work with."

It was annoying, how the man seemed to be able to read him so accurately. Was that level of insight really possible with only the memories Pakunoda had obtained from him? Kurapika shrugged his jacket off, then his shirt, and he shivered as the cool night air hit his bare shoulders. Kuroro moved to the open window and closed it – whether to guard from prying eyes or because he had seen him shuddering, Kurapika couldn't tell. He folded his clothes and placed them on the chair he had been occupying, then awkwardly climbed onto one of the single beds.

"Do I just… sit?"

'Whatever position's comfortable," Kuroro replied. "But keep your back straight, and don't slouch."

"I do _not_ slouch," was Kurapika's indignant mutter, but he obediently crawled to the center of the bed and assumed a cross-legged sitting position, with his back ramrod straight. Kuroro thankfully didn't say anything in reply. Kurapika faced the headboard, with his back to the room, and so he felt more than saw Kuroro getting on the bed behind him. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, the springs creaked once, and Kurapika jumped when Kuroro's hands abruptly come down on his shoulders.

"I said straight, not stiff," Kuroro repeated, and his hands moved before Kurapika could change his posture, fingers kneading the muscles at his shoulder blades, thumbs skillfully walking down the ridge of his spine. Kurapika squeaked, and his back arched without conscious direction from his mind – which, with the objectivity that comes from extreme shock, belatedly reminded him that he was half-naked, and that he was sitting on a motel bed with the leader of the Geneiryodan behind him, who was giving him what appeared to be a massage, and a very good massage it was turning out to be, and –

Kurapika jerked away from Kuroro's touch, twisted around, and gave the man his very best wide-eyed glare. Kuroro raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, but he was smirking in a very un-conciliatory manner. "I did a stint as a masseuse once," he remarked, playfully crooking his fingers twice. "And I give damn good massages, if I do say so myself."

Kurapika stared. The stripper story was already unlikely enough, and to claim that he had given people massages as a living, no matter how long ago and no matter how short the "stint" was… He didn't know what to believe anymore. Kuroro Lucifer was _crazy_. Kuroro Lucifer was an annoying idiot. _Kuroro_ _Lucifer just gave him a massage._

A few seconds passed as the blond struggled to think of a suitable response. "Just…" He was outraged. He wanted to punch that smug grin off Kuroro's face – although the action would probably be interpreted as an attack by the Judgment Chain, so he would have to settle for a less aggressive reaction. He could yell that he didn't _need_ a massage. He could demand that Kuroro keep his distance. He had to do _something_, not just sit there gaping like a beached whale. He had to draw a line right there and then, and tell the older man to stop with his ridiculous pranks and drop his silly airhead act…

"… Just get on with it."

Right away Kurapika knew that he should have said something stronger. He should have cussed up a storm; he should have kicked his roommate off the bed. Now Kuroro's grin remained unchanged, his good humor remained unchecked, and although he had dropped his hands to show that he wasn't going to do anything weird again, he looked wholly unrepentant. Yes, the kick seemed the best course of action that he should have taken, but Kurapika left it at his lame comeback, and carefully inched back into place in front of the other man.

Kuroro cleared his throat. "All right, now, continuing where I left off…"

Kurapika tried to keep his back straight and yet relaxed at the same time – he wasn't going to give Kuroro another chance to toy with him, not if he could help it – although how he was supposed to relax when all his senses were singing with hypersensitive awareness, he didn't know.

"… You won't be doing _ten_ per se as you can't access your nen right now. What I want you to do is to recall the mindset you'd have when doing _ten_. Place yourself in that mindset without actually taking hold of your nen, and you'll have achieved the focus necessary to guide my nen through your body."

He paid only half a mind to Kuroro's explanations, although he knew that to let his attention wander while Kuroro was telling him what he needed to do would be folly. He managed to retain enough sense to do exactly as Kuroro instructed, but everything else was drifting, wandering, disorderly thoughts, thoughts about why he had reacted so badly, thoughts about what the other man was planning to do with him, thoughts about Kuroro's warm hands on his back…

They kept at it for about ten minutes, Kuroro murmuring instructions and vague encouragements, Kurapika doing his best to hold on to his grasp on reality as Kuroro's nen washed through his back and into his limbs, swirled and eddied within his chest, flowed over his own frozen nen like the incoming rush of high tide over a dry beach. It felt strange, though not unpleasant, not even invasive as he thought it would be, with foreign nen being pushed into his body. Somewhere – close to the end of those ten minutes – Kurapika felt a huge surge of energy, as if Kuroro had been trying to shock his inert nen into life. The surge took him by surprise, left him tingling and thrumming with an unfamiliar power, and he instinctively tried to chase it, take hold of it before it snaked back into Kuroro's hands, but the tail end eluded him.

A minute later, and Kurapika was _still_ acutely aware of Kuroro's hands as they tentatively pulled away. He felt completely at ease, almost pleasantly buzzed, and relaxed enough that he nearly blurted out what he had been thinking – that Kuroro seemed to have a callus at the base of his right thumb, and how did he get it, and could he please show Kurapika his hand so he could confirm if the rough patch was really a callus? He shook his head to clear it of the inane thoughts, turned around, and tried to ask what that surge of energy was…

… And instead tipped over onto his back, as muscle control over his torso left him and his strength drained away in an instant.

Kurapika blinked his eyes and saw Kuroro hovering above him. Strangely, his face was upside-down.

"Hey. Are you all right?"

Side effects… Kuroro had said something about side effects. Kurapika could feel the world getting more distant by the second. "I'm tired. Can't move," he slurred.

"Exhaustion for you, then. Sleep it off. You'll feel fine when you wake up."

That was the point when Kurapika found that he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. But he was still awake, and conscious enough to have a brief panic attack. His legs were still partly folded, he couldn't move them to stretch them out, and his head was lying on the wrong side of the bed. Or, to put it more accurately, since he had failed to turn around completely and Kuroro was directly behind him, he had fallen against the other man and his head was lying on Kuroro's lap. He couldn't think of anything more mortifying, but before he could muster the strength to give voice to his hysteria, Kurapika thankfully passed out.

--- end of chapter seventeen ---

notes:

… The storyline is getting a bit difficult to manage. I know where I want to go with this fic, but writing what I know is a different matter altogether. As such, there's a choke point somewhere in this chapter, a huge risk that I took because I believe that it's high time for Kuroro to start making his move (even though right now he doesn't quite understand why he's doing it, just that it's fun to rattle Kurapika's nerves), and I'm leaving it up to you readers to say if my paranoia is real or not. If you think that things are moving too fast for our two protagonists, tell me at once so I can back off on the flirt factor for the next chapters.

The aspects of Kuroro and Kurapika's road trip were inspired by the few Supernatural episodes I've seen so far. But for these two, think Corvettes, or Cadillacs, or Enzo Ferraris, or any one of those sleek sports cars that no one we know can afford to buy. KosagiNoLegion also had Kuroro and Kurapika travel by car in her fic, _An Amusing Interlude_, and I drew a bit of inspiration from that – she wrote her scenes more smoothly than I'm doing now, though.

On to the clarifications. Primo is yet another Italian-sounding name that I came up with out of the blue. And credit for giving me the idea of stripper!Kuroro goes to Nyankokira. Siphoning, I've never done, and I've never seen anyone do it before, but Yukitsu assures me that it's possible to do without getting a mouthful of gas. _Shouko_ are what the pores or points on the body where nen flows out from are called, as described in Wikipedia. And finally, Tonpa the mercenary will be making a few more appearances in later chapters. Look at him as the annoying gag!villain character who just wouldn't die no matter what happens to him.

A scene here was inspired by another from Twig's _A Long Hard Road_, and I borrowed Celeste's writing style in her _Courtship Rituals_ series for a couple of paragraphs in this chapter. I'm sure readers of these two writers will easily spot those parts. No infringement was intended, I swear – I just love these two fics so much that I often find myself going back to them whenever I get stuck.

I'll delve more into the issue of how Kuroro knew what had happened to Kurapika's nen in the next chapter, or the chapter after next. Or even the chapter after that. It really depends on what specific direction the plotline wants to take.

As always, thank you for the wonderful reviews. Feedback is greatly appreciated, and is half the reason why this series is still alive. :D

August 24, 2006.


	18. Rest Stop

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : A desperate Right Nostrad finds out about his former employee being a Kuruta, and Kurapika finds weirdness in the mundane.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and violence

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm a jobless college graduate.

**A/N :** Kudos to my beta-readers, Mistress 259 and Yukitsu, for a really speedy proofreading job. Although, their speed might have been due to the fact that this chapter was shorter than the others… Snore warning for the first part. In fact, give it a snore warning for the entire chapter. I apologize in advance if it's kind of boring. Things will pick up in the next chapter, I swear.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 18 – Rest Stop

Right Nostrad was a businessman with a goldmine for a daughter. Or a daughter for a goldmine – the ordering of the words didn't matter, as both arrangements accurately described his primary source of income. That was what separated him from his colleagues. He wasn't ruthless, or shrewd, or anything that would characterize people who earned their wealth through the cutthroat world of competitive commerce. He just had a good eye for opportunities, a good sense for chances that other businessmen would normally overlook. For example, other businessmen, specifically the common "cold and calculating" businessman would have dismissed his daughter's penchant for poetry as a mere hobby. His daughter was just a typical teenager, after all, capricious and fickle, and her whims changed faster than a portfolio of securities at the stock market on a particularly bad day.

Nostrad, however, had noticed that the girl's poetry wasn't just a useless literary pastime. He was especially attuned to her needs – even though he didn't stay with her all the time, he had attendants watching over her comfort and safety at all hours of the day. They reported everything to him, everything that his daughter did or took an interest in, even sent copies of what she had been writing and drawing ever since she had learned to hold a pen, and this included her earliest divining poems. They weren't perfect works of art, but they had some sort of pattern, a certain meter and rhyme, and eventually he realized that the lines were describing actual events, things that had happened to actual people. It would take a bit more time for him to discover that his daughter was really predicting those events, not writing about them in poems after they had already occurred, but once he had confirmed that her skill was genuine, he'd immediately thought of ways to make use of it.

Neon's mother left him when she was six. He was always too busy working, too busy trying to build his financial empire, too busy to give her the time of day, really, let alone notice when she started seeing a younger and more affectionate man. Their marriage had been arranged, and his inattention meant that love didn't have a chance to develop afterwards, so he hadn't cared about the betrayal at that time, but something in his soul had to have been affected, because then he began doting on her daughter. Toys, clothes, jewelry, food – everything the child wanted, anything she needed, Nostrad would get for her. He didn't really care that he was spoiling her rotten. If spoiling her made her happy and bound to him, he'd continue to do so until he beggared himself. After all, she could easily reimburse him with her predictions. She was a goldmine, one that never seemed to run dry, until the fiasco that was the York Shin auction happened.

Not for the first time Nostrad lamented the rule that said that Neon couldn't predict for herself. She had been at the center of it all – losing her skill, getting half of her security detail killed, wanting to obtain that pair of Kuruta eyeballs no matter what, those damnable pair of eyes that cost him 2.9 billion, that had been stolen because the lone guard protecting them had been too inept to avoid being decapitated in the middle of a traffic jam – all of those could have been avoided if only she could divine for her own future. Now he was in danger of losing everything – his money, his properties, his businesses, his high, but tenuous position in the circles of the mafia… Unless he could think of some way to recover that 2.9 billion quickly, he would have to resort to very drastic measures.

Something knocked hollowly in the darkness, interrupting his fatalistic contemplation of suicidal last resorts. Nostrad looked up from the glass of lukewarm scotch he was nursing, and blearily peered around his office. It looked like a total wreck, papers scattered all over the floor, half-finished meals rotting away on the chairs, books opened and abandoned on the bookshelf, and bottles of expensive brandy and cheap beer intermingling on the pool table, dancing, he fancied, to some silent waltz only the gods of drink and self-destruction could hear.

He thought of ignoring the knocking, and waiting for the knocker to go away or to enter and leave his next meal, but whoever it was persisted on being polite. It was probably Elisa. She had been burying herself in her work ever since they found Skuwara's body. Nostrad couldn't say that he didn't sympathize with the poor girl; he felt exactly the same way, only he was pining after something less romantic than a dead lover.

"What is it?" he finally rasped.

Elisa quietly, gently opened the door an inch, letting only a tiny sliver of light pierce through the gloom. He was dimly glad for her foresight. Direct light would hurt as hell considering how drunk he was. That, or she was afraid of angering him.

"Sir. You have a call from Zenji."

"Tell him that I don't want to see his bastard face right now."

The girl kept her head down, so he couldn't see her reaction to his crassness. "I told him that you weren't interested in taking any calls, sir, but he insisted on talking to you. He said he has information about Kurapika, information that you might want to hear."

Kurapika. Another of the York Shin casualties. He had disappeared right after the last day of the auction, and although no one could say what had happened to him, Nostrad assumed that he was dead. He had messed with a Shooting Star resident, after all – maybe the Geneiryodan had caught up with him. Darshioni's replacement had looked promising; Nostrad had been surprised by his youth, but he had proven to be quite capable. He was intelligent, quick-witted, and apparently, more powerful than his predecessor, as he had managed to capture one of the Geneiryodan – a feat that not even the Inju could accomplish. Nostrad had actually thought about offering the lad a permanent place in his group as his second, but now he had gone missing, and none of his remaining bodyguards could contact him…

Nostrad thought for a moment, then decided that he had nothing to lose by talking to the asshole. Maybe he really had information about Kurapika's whereabouts.

"Fine. Bring the phone in and leave it on the table."

While Elisa did just that, he took a quick trip to the adjacent bathroom to wash his face and gargle the worst of the sour alcoholic taste out of his mouth. He wasn't planning on using the video phone – no way in hell was he going to talk face-to-face with Zenji looking exactly like he had lost most of his fortune, but if he wanted to sound like nothing was wrong with him, he had to feel at least halfway decent.

The phone was waiting for him when he returned to his office. He put the headset on and carefully arranged the receiver's blank black screen to face him. As long as he focused on the phone and on the one clean spot on the desk in front of him, and didn't look at the rest of the room, he could go about this like it was a perfectly normal business transaction. Knowing Zenji, he'd need all his wits about him for the conversation. He thumbed the video option off, and turned the headset on.

The words "No Video" started to crawl across the screen in stark white text, and Zenji's nasal whine drifted through the earpiece, as clear as a whistle and a hundred times more irritating.

"Nostrad. What, not taking a video call? Are you, perhaps, hiding something that you don't want the mafia to know about?"

Nostrad gritted his teeth and tried to sound as pleasantly accommodating as possible.

"Zenji. I'm glad to hear that you've recovered enough to talk coherently. If you must know, I'm in my wine cellar, looking for the perfect year to celebrate my anticipated induction as a Godfather. Unfortunately, it hasn't been equipped with a video phone, because being underground, the video signal tends to distort."

"Really. Well, I happen to have several bottles of excellent vintages in mine. Maybe I could interest you in buying a glass or two."

They were both lying through their teeth, and they both knew it. It was a dance they knew well, full of subtle boasts about immense wealth, and threats of power and prestige. It was a dance that people in their line of work could do even in their sleep, and it was a dance that Nostrad didn't really want to bother with right now.

"Perhaps another time, as I'm sure that you didn't call just to toast to my success."

"Yes, yes. You want me to get to the point? Fine. Your man, that blond brat you had with you. I want him turned over to me."

_Turn over?_ Nostrad frowned. For another group's head to ask for an employee to be turned over to him meant that said employee had seriously insulted him or one of his men. As far as he knew, Kurapika hadn't done anything to offend Zenji, at least not physically – if anything, he had refrained from attacking Zenji in retaliation when the man had punched his employer for no reason other than spite.

"On what charges?"

"On charges of grave physical injury, assault, and robbery," Zenji snapped in reply.

It took Nostrad a few seconds to connect the dots. Kurapika did share his opinion that Zenji was an insufferable idiot. Perhaps the young man wasn't as even-tempered as he had thought. And Zenji had been injured seriously in a mysterious attack on his own estate a month ago. No one knew exactly what had happened, as Zenji's group had clamped down on all the pertinent details, but rumors circulated that quite a number of people had been killed, Zenji himself beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp.

"You mean to say that the alleged assault on you and your men, the perpetrator was –"

"Yes! That blondie and his buddies! I have no idea where his friends came from, but him, I do know, you have under your employment." Zenji paused, then continued in what he probably thought was a sweet tone of voice. "Now, I'm sure he acted without your permission, so I'm not holding anything against you. Just those charges against him should be enough."

Normally, Nostrad's first reaction would have been wonder, privately gleeful wonder, that something bad had finally happened to Zenji, and that an employee of his had been the one to bring it about. His second would have been disappointment that Kurapika hadn't done the job all the way. But now he was a businessman who was fighting to keep his financial existence, so instead he started thinking about how to best take advantage of this information. This was something new, something that he would have to think about carefully. His response could very well change his fortune for the better, or for the worse.

Nostrad tried to inject as much sincere incredulity as he could manage into his reply. "I think it was probably all just a misunderstanding, but even if your charges prove to be correct, I can't turn him over to you. He's currently absent without leave, and none of my men can contact him –"

"Oh no, you don't fool me!" Zenji interrupted. "You're keeping him hidden away somewhere, aren't you? Thinking of hogging him all to yourself and little Miss Fortune-teller, eh?"

This time he was honestly confused. What did Zenji think Kurapika was, if he thought that Nostrad would dare to risk another group's wrath by refusing to turn over an employee who had apparently serious offenses? "Well, he _is_ quite skilled, and I was thinking of promoting him before he disappeared, but –"

"Come on, don't play coy! He's a Kuruta! A real live Kuruta! I understand why you'd want to keep him, he's a priceless specimen, but if you don't hand him over I'll have to do more than limit the charges to him. Did you know that he was working with the Geneiryodan?" Zenji laughed, an ear-splitting braying that would have set Nostrad's nerves on edge, if his revelation hadn't just shocked him into numbness. "Hah! If word got out that your head bodyguard's been conspiring with the Geneiryodan to trash the auction, let's see you try to hold on to your precious wine collection, fortune-teller daughter or no…"

And the man continued to rant about his inevitable ruin, but Nostrad wasn't listening anymore. His attention had been blown away at the first mention of his employee's bloodline. He began to put the facts together, piece by piece, until a clear picture emerged. He clearly remembered taking note of the boy's uncommon skill and unnerving resolve, and that fair hair, and those strange black eyes, eyes that sometimes seemed give off a reddish-black glow. There was also something strange about his accent and his carriage, a faint sense that he was holding back something powerful, something secret and potent. What perfect timing, for him to appear just as the Nostrad group was getting ready to participate in the York Shin auction, and his quick ascent through the ranks. It all made sense now. Thank the gods that Zenji loved to hear himself talk, as his long rant gave Nostrad enough time to get over his upset, and come up with the perfect plan of action to get his assets back.

"That is news to me," he said as Zenji stopped to take a breather. "I assure you, we didn't know of his background. He identified himself as a legitimate Hunter, and that was enough to get him qualified. I also speak the truth when I say that I don't know where he is right now. I last talked to him on September 3, and he hasn't been in contact since then."

"So you really don't know, do you?" the other man chortled gloatingly. Nostrad's hands fisted in anger, and he had to struggle to stop himself from striking out at the video phone.

"Well, then, I suppose he's up for grabs, whoever finds him first," Zenji added.

"Wait!"

"What? Don't think you can stop me now, I know more than you do, and I can just go to the mafia with what I know."

Nostrad forced himself to ignore the threat of blackmail. He needed Zenji for his plan; right now he didn't have enough resources to mount a full-scale manhunt. He had to trick Zenji into believing that he needed him as well.

"If you're thinking of catching him by force, it's not going to work."

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"He's very powerful. You do know that he managed to contain that monster, the one a few hundred heavily-armed men and four Inju couldn't even bring down? And if he really is with the Geneiryodan, then you can't just send people after him and hope that they get a lucky shot."

"Hey, we've never seen his strength for ourselves. How do we know that _he_ didn't strike a lucky shot?"

"No," Nostrad said firmly. "We have to convince him to come back on his own. That way we won't have to risk retaliation from the Geneiryodan."

"Really… And how are you proposing to do that?"

"We should work together, and combine our forces. I'll send some of my men, ones that he's worked with, and maybe trusts to some extent. Once he's found, my men can then talk to him, and ask him to come back to work for me."

"Offer him another lucrative job, eh? He'll certainly fetch a pretty sum in the black market." Zenji laughed again, but this time his humor had a nasty edge to it. "What's in it for you? Aren't you going to mount your own massive manhunt behind my back?"

"No. To be honest, I don't have enough people to spare. Some of my best men were killed in York Shin, and I haven't had time to replace them yet."

It was the truth – well, partially, that is. He preferred to hire fewer, but more specialized protectors as opposed to maintaining armies of dumb grunts, so compared to the other groups, he hadn't lost that many men to the York Shin massacres. What he did lack right now was the money to hire enough men for a full manhunt, certainly not enough to beat what Zenji was capable of sending out. Normally he wouldn't admit to such a weakness, but in this case he had to make Zenji think that he was harmless, but not useless. Telling Zenji about his disadvantage would be like offering an olive branch, and convince the other man of his sincerity. Lastly, but most importantly, by claiming that he knew their target better, he could control the direction of their search.

He also had to imply that it was best if they kept the knowledge of Kurapika's identity between the two of them. Too many fingers dipping into the pot ruins the broth, as they say…

"Honesty is overrated," Zenji rattled off like someone reading from a book of quotes. "I'll be damned if I ever find myself trusting you. But why not? Your idea sounds interesting."

Nostrad allowed himself a tiny smile of triumph, perhaps his first true smile in weeks.

"So we're in agreement, then? We'll be cooperating for this venture."

"Yes. We'll still have to state our specific terms, of course, and draw up a formal contract. But for now I guess it's you and me. We don't want word of this getting out to the other group heads, do we?"

"What group heads?" Nostrad riposted. It was the most daring statement he could allow himself to make, under the circumstances. He had to stoke Zenji's ego, but too much stoking and the other man would feel that he was laying it on too thickly. "We bring a live Kuruta under our control, Zenji, and we'll be taking over the mafia in no time at all."

Luckily for him, Zenji was too stupid not to resist taking the bait. The man laughed again, this time sounding like a cross between a dog and an ass. "This is probably the first time that I'll have to applaud your arrogance, Nostrad. I like how you think!"

Just grin and bear it, Nostrad quietly told himself. _Grin and bear it._ Their arrangement was by no means permanent, and he'd only have to suffer cooperating with the ugly bastard until they'd caught up with their objective. He'd deal with getting rid of Zenji once Kurapika was within reach, and after that…

Nostrad got off the phone feeling like a man who'd been given a new lease on life. He had a purpose, he had a plan, and he could solve all of his problems with one brilliant stroke. Neon had been too difficult to manage ever since they found out that the Eyes they had acquired at York Shin were gone, and presumed stolen by whoever had killed Skuwara. Maybe now she would calm down – maybe she'd even get her skill back once she had regained her good humor! And even if her divining skill was really gone forever, he could still recover his lost capital and make a tidy profit at the same time, if he sold the world's last living Kuruta to some billionaire collector for a ridiculously large amount of money.

He pressed the intercom button on the phone and sent for a servant. Again, it was Elisa who responded. It felt like almost all of his retainers were avoiding him. Nostrad supposed that he _had_ been a bit moody, too, the past few weeks. He would have to work to restore the morale of the people under him.

It was just as well. He'd have to send for one of his daughter's personal attendants, anyway.

"Sir?"

"Send for Bashou. And tell Neon to get ready. We're going out for dinner tonight."

---ooOOOoo---

In the five years of living and training by himself since the massacre of all his clan members, Kurapika had slept on every surface imaginable: clean and dirty, soft and hard, springy and lumpy, feather down and wood and moss and dirt. A child living on his own couldn't afford to be picky; he had to take what chance of rest he could get, even if it meant seeking shelter in the most inhospitable environments. It was even more difficult for him because he couldn't settle in one place for too long; he was entirely too conscious of the possibility that someone would find out that he was a Kuruta. That was why he was always on the move, and he always slept lightly, some unquantifiable sense alert even while his other five were slumbering, and he also woke up quickly, and was ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Kurapika was thus accustomed to traveling, and he traveled alone. Being the sole survivor of a genocide had left him with little taste for socializing. He was polite by nature, though, and if approached by strangers, would return greetings and accept invitations for food and lodging, but he never trusted too deeply. He kept to himself, and he never stayed in one place for more than a few weeks. That was what he had gotten used to, sleeping on beds he could never call his own, and sleeping lightly, ever mindful of the strange presences that he could never trust to watch over him while he slept.

Now he found himself waking up on yet another unfamiliar bed, a regular motel bed with its mass-produced foam bedding and generic white cotton sheets and single small pillow. It was by far one of the nicest accommodations he'd had over the past few weeks, but it was still what he'd call a one-night – or at most, a one-week-bed. Nothing unusual there. What _was_ unusual was the fact that he was still quite groggy, his limbs were heavy, and he felt an overall weariness, the kind that could only come from sleeping too deeply, or too much.

And his stomach was growling ferociously.

"Go wash up. I'll get breakfast ready for you."

Kurapika slowly turned his head to look for the speaker, and saw Kuroro Lucifer on the other bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. His eyes had been closed, now they opened to watch him as he struggled to sit upright.

"What time is it?"

"Half past seven in the morning."

Kurapika's vision swam as the knowledge that he'd been out for almost twelve hours hit him – though the sensation of having his head in a vise was probably more due to all the blood in his brain rushing southward as he sat up too quickly, than knowing that he'd been out like a light for half a day. He screwed his eyes shut, and waited a few seconds for the disorientation to pass, then managed to heave himself to his feet without aggravating his nausea, but after that he had to stagger to the bathroom, his head pounding every step of the way. He was faintly aware of Kuroro watching him closely, perhaps wondering if he needed any assistance, but he forced himself to walk the few feet on his own – he wasn't going to let himself be escorted to the loo like an invalid first thing in the morning. It would surely ruin the rest of his day.

He sighed in relief when he reached the bathroom without incident. Kurapika planted himself in front of the sink, then blinked fuzzily at the door, wondering if he should risk closing it now that he couldn't use his nen as a way of letting Kuroro know where he was behind closed doors.

"Don't close the door!" Kuroro called after him, answering his question before Kurapika could ask. The blond frowned at the open doorway and out at what he could see of the room, but Kuroro wasn't there. The man had moved to the kitchenette, and from the sound of the banging, seemed to be puttering around with the stove.

Kurapika turned back to his reflection on the bathroom mirror and spent a few seconds attempting to blink his sleepiness away. He found two sets of disposable toothbrushes with their tiny tubes of toothpaste when he rummaged through the medicine cabinet, and he used one set to brush his teeth, then he washed his face, letting the freezing tap water shock most of his lethargy into nonexistence.

The bracelet on his left wrist tinkled with every movement he made, and the peculiar composition of the tiles of the bathroom magnified the sounds so that they seemed louder than what the bells were capable of making. The blond was suddenly aware that his shoulders were stiff and his spine was rigidly tense. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nothing was going to happen; Kuroro was only a meter away, on the other side of a thin cement wall, and he wasn't doing anything that would violate his restrictions. He forced himself to relax, and began to feel better by the time he finished relieving himself – after surreptitiously checking that Kuroro was still in the kitchenette and couldn't see into the bathroom – and was mostly awake when he came back out and sat on one of the two chairs beside the small square dining table.

"You're not going to take a bath?" Kuroro asked in surprise as he handed over a cup of hot coffee, which Kurapika accepted gratefully.

"Later," he mumbled. "I'll eat first."

Kuroro nudged last night's pizza box to Kurapika's side of the table. "Right. There's the fried rice that you didn't want to finish, and here's your half of the pizza."

Kurapika wrinkled his nose. No matter how delicious the thing smelled, the haphazard heap of toppings still looked alien to him. And Kuroro was being way too cheerful this morning. The blond wanted to at least mutter something appropriately mutinous about his situation, but found that he couldn't muster the energy in the face of Kuroro's sunniness, so he gave up without shooting his customary scowl, pulled the box closer, grabbed one of the triangular pieces of pie, bit into it, and started chewing half-heartedly.

The Geneiryodan head frowned at him in obvious concern when the protest he must have been expecting didn't come. "You slept too much. Maybe I'll try waking you up next time instead of letting you wake up by yourself."

Kuroro was also being abnormally solicitous – or maybe this was his real personality? Kurapika frowned back at his companion as a thought wormed its way to the forefront of his attention. "You were watching over me again, weren't you? Did you sleep at all last night?"

"I did, for a while. I had to make sure that you were still breathing."

"What do you mean, make sure that I was breathing…?" Kurapika started to ask, but trailed off uncertainly as he recalled their discussion last night. He was sure that there hadn't been mention of any risk anywhere. He narrowed his eyes, and tried to gauge the older man's mood. Kuroro now had what Kurapika called his "friendly" face on, which was more animated than his Dancho persona, but was still difficult to read. Knowing what he did of the older man, though, the blond had a feeling that he meant exactly what he had said.

Kuroro grinned at him toothily. Kurapika thought sourly that he was probably already hard at work predicting the flow of his thoughts. "I'll be taking a bath," the leader of the Phantom Brigade said as he stood up from the table. "I'll leave the door open; that way I'll still hear you moving. Try to finish off as many slices as you can."

Kurapika nodded obediently. Better to just do as Kuroro ordered than give himself an even more painful headache trying to butt heads with the man. His dark-haired companion smiled again before sauntering into the bathroom for his turn at the facilities. He left the door open, as he said, so Kurapika could hear everything he did – a faucet gushing water, a toothbrush brushing teeth, Kuroro spitting the toothpaste foam and rinsing out the rest of it with a mouthful of water, then clothes rustling, a zipper opening and belt buckles clinking, the opaque plastic partition that screened the shower area squeaking on its rollers as it was opened and closed, and finally the hiss and gurgle and patter of water raining from the showerhead on to the bathroom tiles.

Kurapika blinked and colored as he abruptly realized that he was doing the auditory equivalent of what a peeper would do given the invitation of an open bathroom. He shook his head and forced his thoughts to turn to more important things – like the situation with his nen. Kuroro's blithely delivered comment about making sure that he was still breathing had sounded like a joke; on the other hand, he wouldn't put it past the other man to try to put him at ease by hiding the gravity of his condition behind his lopsided smiles and devil-may-care approach toward difficulties. Kurapika had been preparing himself for the problems that he was certain would be waiting for him in the next few days. If they ever had to fight, he would have to defend himself physically, without the aid of his nen. It was by far the biggest issue he had been brooding about up until now – he wanted to be able to pull his own weight during a fight, not depend on Kuroro like some damsel in distress – and not once did he think that he could just die in his sleep because his _shouko_ had been blocked.

No, Kuroro was probably just blowing things out of proportion. The blond told himself that he felt fine, not counting the absence of a large part of his life energy. Everything vital was working, he wasn't injured, and it wasn't as if his nen was completely gone. He could recover it once the seal was broken, and he could go back to being normal again – or as normal as he could be under the circumstances.

… But what had happened last night? Despite knowing that he had been too tired to function normally, it was still disconcerting to find out that his paranoid sixth sense had allowed the rest of him to sleep so soundly in Kuroro's company. Even if the man didn't mean him any harm, Kurapika should still have felt his presence – or at the very least, his scrutiny – and he should have woken up sometime during the night no matter how tired he had been.

It could mean only one thing, for him to let his guard down so completely while he was in his most vulnerable, and it was a conclusion that was making him feel extremely uncomfortable. It could also lead to a whole lot of other uncomfortable implications, and for once, Kurapika didn't feel up to the task of cross-examining those thoughts. Some part of his subconscious knew that it was pointless; there would be no loopholes here, no exceptions to be found that he could use to convince himself that the first conclusion couldn't be true.

Another part was quite content to leave it just at that, on the realization that he _trusted_ Kuroro Lucifer enough to let his inhibitions go and sleep like a log. It was just one night, anyway, and he had been tired as hell. So what if he had a full night's sleep? It wasn't as if anything was going to change between the two of them. Kuroro was a killer and a thief, and Kurapika was the possibly last Kuruta alive because of him…

He moved his gaze to the furniture and tried to distract himself with the controlled order of the action. The room meant nothing to him – or, if he wanted to be really anal about it he could think of it as being the first of many more rest stops that he and Kuroro would be staying at, but other than that fact the motel room was pretty insignificant. It was impersonal, unfamiliar, and there should be nothing in it that would trigger flashbacks, or bring up memories, or send him spiraling down an unwelcome tangent of errant thoughts. The sheer dullness of it all should calm him. A dining table, two chairs, the small stove and an equally small tank of propane gas, a laminated kitchen counter, the utensils Kuroro had left in the sink, then over on to the room itself – wooden floor, cement walls, lace curtains and the closed door, another chair, the plain white bureau, then the beds, still unmade after they'd been slept on…

_Beds_. Kurapika frowned as his gaze was drawn back to the bed he had slept in. For the one night, he had claimed it as his own, and so it wasn't completely impersonal. And thinking about laying claim on the thing brought him back to last night, to what Kuroro had started to do to help him get his nen back, to that incredible surge of energy he had felt just before they stopped, and to the bizarre effects that the exercise had left him with –

Kurapika blinked. Looked down at his T-shirt. Looked up again, and tried to recall the state he had been in when he had lost consciousness. Kuroro had asked him to remove his shirt, and he had folded it and his jacket and placed them on the chair beside his bed. And he had been too tired to pull it back on before going to sleep.

But he was wearing his shirt when he woke up. And he was lying on his back, properly positioned for a good, long sleep, not sprawled ungracefully all over Kuroro's lap like he remembered being just before he fainted. That meant that Kuroro had dressed him, and tucked him in, pillow under his head, and blanket wrapped snugly around him and all, even without being asked.

It was just a practical gesture, Kurapika told himself. He'd probably do the same for the other man if their positions had been reversed. It was an obsessive-compulsive thing, like how he couldn't stand leaving a wad of crumpled paper alone if he had tried to lob it into a wastebasket only to have it fall to the side. Yes, he'd have done the same for Kuroro, even though he hated the older man, because he wasn't childish enough to try to take revenge by doing something so petty, like leaving him to sleep in a strained position without his shirt on…

But the thought that Kuroro had done that for him _still_ made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

Kuroro came back out of his morning shower to find his younger companion dazedly staring off into space. He looked thunderstruck, like something had startled him so much that he hadn't even realized that he had finished off all the remaining pieces of the flat and greasy pie. Nothing seemed wrong, though, so rather than commenting on the empty box and embarrassing the boy with his teasing, Kuroro wordlessly rejoined him on the table, and began toweling his hair dry.

His movement jostled Kurapika from whatever trance he had fallen into, and the blond slowly turned his head and looked at him – and Kuroro watched in confusion as the boy's cheeks began to flush an alarming shade of red.

"I'll drive later, so you can get some rest," Kurapika mumbled almost inaudibly, seemingly without preamble, then got up, and without waiting for Kuroro to reply, scurried off into the bathroom to take his delayed shower.

That left Kuroro sitting on one of the chairs at the table, with his towel, forgotten for the moment, still draped over his head and half of his face. He was too busy trying to understand what had just happened. It was, perhaps, the first time since meeting Kurapika in York Shin that he couldn't tell what the boy was thinking.

_Now, what was _that _all about?_

--- end of chapter eighteen ---

Additional notes:

For those of you who still don't know, I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year. That's why I've decided to cut this chapter at 6,000 words, and save Bashou's grand entrance for the next chapter, rather than continue and give you guys a longer chapter. I know that some of you will find this update boring – I'm sorry if that's the case, but that's how the chapter wanted to be written. Please treat this as an interlude. Like I said, the next one will be much more action-packed.

Clarifications. You know how Kurapika's shown in the first opening theme in the anime, sleeping in a cushy hammock with a blanket and that covering over his eyes? I figured that it's too unrealistic, I mean, he had to live by himself after the massacre of his clan. He has to be used to living it rough. Also, in the anime and the manga, notice that he readily told anyone who asked him why he wanted to be a Hunter, that he was a Kuruta? That was only during the Exam. Maybe he thought that the examiners would look at him less favorably if he were to lie rather than tell the truth. But outside of the Hunter Exam arc, he'd probably be more paranoid about people finding out that there's still one live Kuruta running around.

Anything else? Oh, yes. Thank you for reading and for continuing to support me even though I've been completely beastly with updates. Nothing makes my day like a review reassuring me that I've still got readers following my writing. :P

November 16, 2006.


	19. Quaere Verum

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Nostrad orders Bashou to go on a search and retrieve mission – prompting him to wonder about his employer's true motives – and Kuroro and Kurapika are confronted by their first group of bounty hunters.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, violence, and wanton killing of cannon fodder characters.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm a jobless college graduate.

**A/N :** My editing is complete. Mistress 259 replied back with her comments just a few hours after I posted. Here's the fully-beta-read version. :3

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 19 – Quaere Verum

Bashou had known that something was going on in the Nostrad household even before his employer started to lock himself in his study.

For one thing, Kurapika had disappeared. Nobody noticed his absence at first; everyone was far more concerned with finding out who had killed Skuwara, and what had happened to the pair of Scarlet Eyes that he was supposed to have been guarding. Kurapika had disappeared for a few hours before, only to come back with a softly-worded reassurance that he was fine, so no one gave it much thought when he disappeared for the second time. It was only until a couple of days had passed without word from him that Right Nostrad began demanding for his presence – and when all attempts to locate him or reach him failed, everyone realized that he was gone. Also, when investigations into the backgrounds of the culprits confirmed that they were genuine Phantom Brigade members, and that they hailed from the infamous lawless area known as Shooting Star City, Bashou knew that they probably wouldn't see Kurapika again. People who tangled with Ryuuseigai residents tended to get killed in retaliatory attacks. So as far as he was concerned, it was an open-and-shut case – he respected Kurapika and thought of him as a pretty skilled Hunter, but he wasn't about to lose sleep over what may or may not have happened to some kid he'd met on the job.

With Darshioni and now even Kurapika gone, the task of protecting Neon Nostrad fell to the remaining members of her escort – Bashou and Senritsu, plus half a dozen normal guards that Right Nostrad had hastily called in to pad Neon's rapidly-dwindling security detail. By virtue of having survived the longest, Bashou and Senritsu were thus the most senior of the Nostrad clan's guards. Either of the two would have to succeed Kurapika as head bodyguard, and Bashou had hoped to push the responsibility to Senritsu. He wasn't sure if he had enough patience to deal with Neon's tantrums, and he had been banking on the justification that Senritsu was better equipped – mentally and emotionally – to handle the girl's mood swings. Right didn't raise the issue immediately; he was probably clinging to the hope that Kurapika would still return, but Bashou wasn't as optimistic. He just knew that the question would come up eventually, and he had intended to put Senritsu's name forward for the position as soon as the woman returned from wherever it was that she had disappeared to on her day off.

It was just his bad luck that the first thing Senritsu did was to declare her resignation, upon checking in a day after Kurapika was officially listed as missing, with no reason other than "a couple of personal problems" that she had to prioritize at the moment. She didn't even care that she wouldn't be receiving her pay – by resigning of her own volition, she would be the one breaking the terms of her contract with the Nostrad clan. Right wasn't bound to honor her fees anymore, even if she had already fulfilled part of her contract before resigning. It was as far as he could go, though – he couldn't charge her legally, or demand any other form of remuneration for her sudden resignation. The man could only seethe miserably as yet another of his employees prepared to leave.

Bashou had followed Senritsu back to her room and watched her as she packed what meager possessions she had brought with her. They had been colleagues, if only for a short while, and he felt uneasy that he would be the only one left out of their original group of seven. Senritsu, in contrast, seemed so calm, so quiet and unconcerned about her sudden resignation and her lack of a salary. She was also unperturbed by the upheavals in the household – even Neon's shrill screams, which were completely audible all the way from the other side of the mansion. And what of her friendship with the missing head bodyguard? Out of all of them, she was the one who had been the closest to Kurapika, so she must have an idea of where he had gone.

When he tried to question her, though, she only answered, "Don't ask me, and I won't have to lie to you."

Of course, that only made him more curious. It was equivalent to saying that she knew what had happened. Whatever it was didn't seem to be that bad – Senritsu didn't look upset, after all, but it couldn't be anything good, either, if she was clamming up about it. No matter what Bashou said, or how much he narrowed his eyes at her threateningly, though, she didn't volunteer any more information. And even if he was the type to beg or plead, it wouldn't have made a difference; he could tell that Senritsu was in an unyielding mood. So he gave up, and kept his co-worker company for as long as she was in the mansion.

Bashou had thought that she would keep quiet all the way, but at the gates Senritsu turned around and gave him one last parting shot.

"We're both doing what we must. If you feel lost, choose the path that you feel is right for you," she murmured gently before bowing and walking away, leaving him to puzzle over her counsel by himself.

As cryptic as her statement was, Bashou knew that the woman had heard his anxiety with her keen ears. She was answering his unvoiced worries, in her own indirect way. He accepted her advice with a nod and a gruff goodbye, then went back into the house wondering if he should leave, too, before something bad happened to him. The Nostrad household seemed cursed. All of its guardians had either died or left under mysterious and/or questionable circumstances.

And something was wrong with Neon's fortunetelling ability. Right Nostrad was trying to keep word of her condition from leaking out into the mafia community, and he was doing all right so far, by keeping a tight leash on communications within his own household. Most of the servants had been told that Miss Neon was feeling under the weather and was acting difficult because her exploits at the York Shin auctions didn't go the way she wanted. Only Bashou and Neon's personal attendants knew that anything was wrong at all, but it was only a matter of time before certain parties found out that the girl had lost her ability to predict the future, and when that time came, Nostrad's status within the community would surely plummet. Without Neon's ability, Right Nostrad was worth nothing. Even now Bashou wasn't sure if the old man could afford to keep Hunters – specifically, him – on his payroll. The man had spent a ridiculously huge sum on those Eyes, after all – it was so large an amount that he would never be able to recover all of it without Neon's help.

Maybe that was why Nostrad had taken to locking himself in his study, and why the aura around that particular room felt so bleak and desolate. It had been a month since the events in York Shin, and three weeks since Bashou had summarily been promoted to the position of head of security, but Nostrad had yet to do anything that suited a businessman of his standing. By all appearances, the man was just drowning his problems in alcohol. Neon continued to throw her temper tantrums, the servants tiptoed around both masters of the house with more and more care until they ended up avoiding the two entirely, and Bashou was left to his own devices.

Normally a Hunter like him hired for the purpose of protection would need to take specific orders from his employer, but in the absence of those orders he'd had to make do with the regular tasks of ensuring the security of the family mansion. It was a large place, and one would think that he'd have plenty to do, but he felt like he wasn't doing anything remotely bodyguard-like. His days consisted of organizing and assigning shifts for Nostrad's security force, going on endless rounds around the estate, and wandering the numerous hallways of the mansion in the vain hope that he'd run across a burglar or two, but the household felt so lifeless that he could probably leave and go sightseeing and no one would notice. The chance to play delinquent was tempting, but he made sure to keep himself ready in case Nostrad needed him for anything.

Nevertheless, after almost a month of the same monotonous routine, Bashou was just about ready to give up and leave like Senritsu had done. The only thing keeping him from resigning was Nostrad's promise to triple his salary; he'd be paid three times his normal rate if he stayed and finished his contract. It was too big of an offer to refuse, and he wasn't like Senritsu, who obviously didn't mind not getting paid for all her efforts. He had stayed for far too long in this… this insultingly boring position, that he'd be damned if he left now without something of value to at least make up for the time that he had wasted.

One afternoon, he had been seated on the white marble steps before the big double doors of the main entrance, wondering about his chances of getting away if he stole one of the vintage cars in Nostrad's garage. At least one of those ancient clunkers should be enough to pay for his original fee. Maybe he could nip the smallest sedan, unobtrusively drive out with it, and just slide under the radar for a while until Nostrad forgot about him. The old man had certainly been apathetic enough about his household affairs. Another loss wouldn't make that much of an impact on his alcohol-clouded mind, Bashou had thought rather viciously.

… He would have started to consider going renegade seriously, too, and not just in the wishful and spiteful manner in which he had been thinking of how to make up for his lost time, if Elisa hadn't approached him with a surprising order.

Nostrad wanted to see him. And it wasn't because he was looking for a drinking partner.

So Bashou had gotten up, slapped at his pants to dust himself off, and then he'd sauntered off to answer Nostrad's summons. He had actually felt relieved, and thought that maybe the man had finally recovered his senses. Maybe now he would get reasonable orders, like an assignment to escort Miss Neon to some resort somewhere, or a command to accompany Nostrad to a business meeting – something mundane and tedious and still boring, but at least a task that would finally make him feel like he was earning his keep properly.

He certainly hadn't expected to be sent off on a search-and-recover mission to retrieve his missing predecessor.

To put it simply, Nostrad had told him that one of his "colleagues" had gotten wind of Kurapika's whereabouts, and that he wanted Bashou to go offer the boy a chance to come back to work for him.

Now, Bashou wasn't stupid. He knew that he often came across as the all-brawns-and-no-brain type, but that was because he chose to look that way. He acted tough and dressed tough, and he had the abilities to back it up. He was actually quite sensitive to even the most subtle of sensations, else he wouldn't be able to write his poems. And what kind of Hunter would he be if he couldn't sense threats in his surroundings quickly enough to react in time? Looking big and intimidating was just part of the getup – it scared the stupid people and kept them out of his way, and made the smarter ones underestimate him. They usually ended up thinking that he was dull and slow-witted.

Nostrad belonged to that second category. Bashou could literally see it in the way the man talked, and how he just wore his heart out on his sleeve. He'd also bet his calligraphy brush that Nostrad was probably thinking that his hulking bodyguard was too simple-minded to spot the nuances hidden behind his all-important orders.

Unfortunately for the businessman, the bodyguard could see the fine points well enough. Maybe not the exact intention, but he could definitely tell that there was a hidden motive somewhere.

Nostrad wanted Bashou to go get Kurapika back, all right, but he didn't say why he really wanted the boy to come back. The man prattled on about how the blond might have gotten scared of his responsibilities, how he must have run away because he couldn't handle being appointed as the head of Neon's security detail, and that he would forgive Kurapika if that was the case, as long as he came back, because the blond was talented and powerful and had done enough for the clan to deserve being given a second chance.

His reasons sounded believable to anyone who didn't know better, but Bashou knew better. Nostrad was a member of the mafia, after all, and there was no way that he would go that far to retrieve a wayward bodyguard, especially since it was painfully obvious, at least to Bashou, that his finances were suffering. Nostrad had also resorted to using pretty words – words that Bashou could easily hear coming from the next slimy politician, and it would have convinced a less discerning man, but his eyes gave him away.

Nostrad's eyes were flashing with barely-suppressed excitement, and they were the most lively that Bashou had ever seen them since being hired by the man, but they weren't the eyes of a caring employer who was delighted with the prospect of being reunited with a beloved employee. No, all he could see in them were greed and ambition, malice and deceit, and a desperation that bordered on madness.

That was probably when Bashou decided, once and for all, that he was going to leave. He was going to leave just like Senritsu had done, after a month of stubbornly holding on to his initial decision that he wasn't going to make the same mistake. If he had to, he was going to sneak away without telling anyone, consequences and tripled salary and benefits be damned, because he didn't dare hand in his resignation with Nostrad looking like someone on the verge of losing his sanity. The man actually looked happy, too – well, with that small hint of insanity it was more accurate to say that he looked insanely happy, but it was still the happiest he'd been since York Shin. Far be it for him to be the one to throw a wrench into his soon-to-be-ex-employer's unusual good mood, so Bashou hatched on the plan take off after leaving for this mission. From what Nostrad told him, Kurapika had traveled a fair distance away, so he had lots of chances to slip away unseen. For the moment, though, he was going to go along with his assignment.

And, he had to admit that he was a bit curious to see what Nostrad's real motives were. His orders had felt suspicious right from the start – he was going to act as the family's messenger and pass along Nostrad's offer to Kurapika. But why him, specifically, and why did he have to go personally? A signed and sealed letter would have been enough.

Because according to Nostrad, Kurapika knew him, and would trust him more than he would trust a complete stranger. It sounded reasonable; Kurapika had made himself out to be a cautious and mistrustful individual, after all, with his seemingly cold and detached behavior toward his coworkers.

And why the men that Bashou had to work with? Because they were the ones who would be actively searching for the blond, Nostrad said. Again, Bashou was just there to convince the boy to return. He could kick back and let the other men be the muscle of the operation.

Here was where he didn't know whether to applaud Nostrad for his audacity, or to tell his employer to shove it; the "search party" that Bashou had to accompany didn't look like a search party so much as a hunting party. There were thirty men, all menacing, seedy-looking characters, and all packing weapons that were very obviously not part of the tracker's catalogue of searching tools. About a third of them were nen users, too – they weren't bothering to hide their aggressive auras from anyone sensitive to nen. Bashou wasn't worried for his safety; he could look after his own hide, and he could tell that his "companions" had been ordered to leave him alone. They stayed out of his way, and he kept to himself, and just tagged along as per his instructions.

It was unnerving, though, to be around so many rough-looking people. Their charming little convoy had already scared the wits out of everyone they'd met. They'd passed by several towns and cities, and everyone gave them a wide berth. Bashou couldn't blame them. Who the fuck sends out thugs to search for one person, anyway?

He resolved to find out exactly why he'd been sent with these goons.

By eavesdropping on conversations, he'd confirmed that they were indeed Zenji's hired hands. Nostrad had told him as much, but Bashou didn't really believe it at first. He'd heard that the two men hated each other so much that it was unthinkable to even imagine them working together in any capacity. Those rumors were apparently mistaken, as now there was a "search party" loose on the Yorubian continent, comprised of a Nostrad family guard and thirty guns from Zenji's group. Needless to say, if Nostrad and Zenji had actually managed to put their notorious rivalry on hold for the express purpose of pooling their resources together, then whatever they were both after couldn't be something as simple as offering an employee another shot at the post he'd abandoned.

Bashou had also heard the words "Kuruta" and "Geneiryodan" being mentioned. If the low-voiced chortlings were to be believed, the thirty men had been promised a very big reward if they succeeded in bringing back the Kuruta. They might have to clash with the Geneiryodan in the process, but they all believed that the money was well worth the risk.

This gave him a lot of things to think about. One was that the conversations he'd overheard were proof positive that Nostrad wasn't being honest with him. Two was the fact that his assignment wasn't as safe, or as easy as he'd been led to believe. Three – and this he'd already known to a lesser extent – was the implication that Kurapika was involved with the Geneiryodan.

Bashou didn't like what he was hearing – it almost sounded as if Zenji's men believed that the blond was actually a Geneiryodan member! Not that he was going to take them on their word that easily, of course, but if all he had to fall back on were the snatches of conversation he'd heard, then he'd have to conclude that Nostrad and Zenji were after Kurapika because they believed that the kid had made off with the pair of Kuruta eyeballs from the auction, and that he had been a Phantom Brigade member all along.

It was ridiculous. Bashou had felt the boy's hatred every time someone so much as mentioned the word "Geneiryodan" – and it was a deep-seated hatred, an emotion that normal people would never be able to understand. It was preposterous to suggest that Kurapika could be one of them.

… But it all added up. It could be the reason why Kurapika had left without so much as a by-your-leave, and why Senritsu had refused to say anything. Maybe she was just protecting a friend, and maybe he'd left because his job – the Geneiryodan's job in York Shin was done.

It was still something that he refused to believe without seeing irrefutable evidence. Like Kurapika telling him, up front and personally, that, yes, he was a Geneiryodan member, and for this and that reason, he'd stolen the pair of Scarlet Eyes, contributed to Skuwara's murder, and ultimately brought about Nostrad's financial downfall. It was for that need to have his questions answered that Bashou had decided to stick with the program, instead of slinking away like he'd originally planned.

Well, he was still going to slink away, but only after he'd seen and talked to Kurapika face-to-face.

Which brought him to where he was now, watching Zenji's men as they spread out on both sides of the street to form a rough perimeter. They'd been chasing after Kurapika for well over two weeks, and his guides' mostly forceful methods of information gathering had paid off. A clerk working at one of the gas stations on the outskirts of the current city claimed to have seen someone matching the blond's description stop by in a really expensive-looking car just a couple of hours ago. Granted, the poor guy had given the information under duress, hoisted up into the air by the lapels of his uniform, so it might not be accurate, but with thirty people, it hadn't been that difficult to follow up on his tip. Ten minutes ago, two of the men spotted Kurapika and a taller dark-haired man walking out of a side alley.

They'd finally caught up.

---ooOOOoo---

Their pursuers first showed up in his consciousness as eleven individual points of color at the very edges of his awareness. Those spots of color had felt insignificant at the beginning – Kuroro thought that it was just a random gathering of nen users who happened to be traveling in the same direction, but an hour passed, then two, with the group of spots not lessening in number and keeping up with the unrelenting pace he and Kurapika had set. If anything, the unknown nen users seemed to have gotten closer, and Kuroro could now feel a sort of unfriendly quality to the foreign nen.

He looked to the side to see Kurapika frowning, an expression of puzzled concentration in the lines of his face.

"Can you feel that?"

"No," Kurapika growled. "It's just one big blob of nen to me."

Kuroro gave the blond a sidelong glance. "Your nen's still unstable. I've managed to unseal part of it, but I think we need another week to free all of it. I'm surprised that you managed to sense anything at all, actually."

"So what is it?"

"Ten… or eleven nen users. I'm not sure about the eleventh, but I can tell you that the other ten aren't bothering to hide their auras."

Kurapika was watching him now, perhaps trying to see if there was any hidden meaning under his continued nonchalance. "Should we be worried?" he asked.

No, he wasn't really worried about a rogue group of nen users who may or may not be after the very large bounty on his head. Although… if they _were_ bounty hunters, then they were being quite generous, outright alerting him to their presence before attacking. Real bounty hunters would know how to go about hunting an S-class criminal, and one of the most important things to remember if one wanted to survive the encounter, was that one should try to _hide_ his presence on the approach, not give it away. So maybe the group of nen users behind them had nothing to do with them after all. Maybe they were just fellow travelers out on a joyride.

Then again, they _could_ be bounty hunters. If so, were they pursuing him, or were they chasing after someone else entirely…?

Kuroro kept his eyes on the road and tried to think of how to phrase his answer without unduly worrying – or offending his companion.

"I should think not," he said carefully. "I'd been expecting some sort of pursuit, but not this early."

Kurapika arched one of his eyebrows, silently telling him exactly what he thought of his tendency to second-guess outcomes and intentions. Kuroro's shoulders shook slightly in an equally silent chuckle.

"Well," Kuroro continued, "they could be bounty hunters, chasing after the bounty that I have, in which case I really wouldn't be worried. I've found that people who would dare to broadcast their aura so boldly tend to be either stupid, or overconfident of skills which are actually less than adequate. This group probably has both types."

Kurapika turned his eyes away and back to the view outside the windshield, mirroring Kuroro's laid-back posture. "So what do you usually do in these kinds of situations?" he asked casually.

"Well… if their intentions aren't clear, I'd backtrack, try to go around them and investigate. Then, depending on what I find, I might leave them alone or confront them. If I find a useful skill, I'll steal it. If they're interesting bounty hunters, I'll fight them. If they're boring bounty hunters, I'll let them live. But if it feels like too much trouble – such as right now since there seems to be more than ten of them – I might just race ahead and lose them through speed."

"Ten isn't that large of a group. You've fought more at the same time before, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but I'd only confront an entire group if fighting is unavoidable, or if I'm absolutely certain that the conditions at the time are favorable to me."

"Stop the car."

Kuroro blinked. This time he couldn't avoid looking directly at his companion, and now that he wasn't watching Kurapika with just his peripheral vision, he could clearly see the narrowed blue eyes and the displeased scowl in the down-turned corners of the boy's lips.

"If you're worried that my condition might affect my fighting capabilities, don't be. I can look after myself just fine," Kurapika said, back straightening into a stiff board and tone rapidly cooling into subzero levels.

"It's not that –"

"It can't be the first reason," the blond interrupted, "because I don't believe for a second that you think a confrontation is avoidable. They've been tailing us for the last two hours. If they don't catch up now, they're probably going to continue to follow us until they do."

Kuroro opened his mouth to try to say something, but Kurapika talked over his words easily, his arguments gathering weight with each new syllable, like a ball of ice taking on more mass while rolling down a hill of snow.

"– and don't try to tell me that they might not be following us, either. Nen users are rare enough that to have such a large group show up within a few hundred meters of someone with a track record like yours – you can't just write that off as a mere coincidence. Which brings us to the only possible reason." Kurapika stopped and flicked his eyes in Kuroro's direction, but looked away again when he saw that the older man was staring at him.

"You're worried that I might get in the way. I can see where you're coming from, but I don't believe that it's the best way to deal with this situation. You're obviously not the type to keep running all the way until Shooting Star City, so stop the car, and let's go see what they want. If we do end up fighting, I'll try to stay out of your way. It's not as if I'd also lost the ability for hand-to-hand combat."

Kuroro blinked again, for once at a loss on how to respond after having a fistful of logical arguments thrown into his face. In retrospect he realized that he should have expected it; Kurapika did have the mental maturity of someone far older than his seventeen years, and the intellectual acuity to go along with it. His emotional maturity, though, wasn't quite up to par; he was being stubborn, and he didn't want to admit that his still-partially sealed nen could negatively affect his performance. Anyone with more common sense would back down and retreat – at least until he'd recovered enough of his nen to fight other nen-users on an equal footing.

"I _am_ worried, but not because I think you might get in my way. I'm more concerned that you might get hurt," Kuroro pointed out, a bit more gently than if it were any of his other Ryodan who was being insubordinate – and yes, the softer approach worked. Instead of reacting negatively to the rebuff, the blond flushed and fidgeted, and moved his gaze to somewhere around the space below the dashboard on his side of the car.

"But you're right," Kuroro amended. "It _would_ be better to confront them now, while we have the advantage of knowing exactly where they're coming from."

Not that he had any other choice but to give in. To refuse would just damage whatever trust or respect that Kurapika might have built up for him, especially now when the blond was probably feeling particularly defensive with regards to his decreased fighting ability.

Kuroro stifled a sigh and started looking around for a place to park the car. This emotional babysitting business wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he first hatched the plan to make use of the chain assassin's abilities. When he'd thought of what conditions to give Kurapika, he'd worded them on the assumption that he would have to control the blond with commands and orders. But now, _he_ was the one bending over backwards for the boy.

"Could you at least stay behind me or other obstacles if they start using guns?" he asked suddenly. When Kurapika opened his mouth to protest, Kuroro shook his head. He wasn't going to back down, now that the blond seemed receptive to being chastised. "No buts. If you try to defend yourself against projectiles, you might inadvertently call up your chains or use _ten_ by reflex. I don't know what will happen if you try to use your nen while it's still partially sealed."

Kurapika didn't reply at once, but at least the threat of something happening to his nen seemed to be giving him cause to think twice. He nodded, and muttered a petulant "All right," just as Kuroro was pulling into a suitable alley, and got out with a more subdued air after they'd driven some ways in.

They didn't walk out of the alley immediately; Kuroro took a moment to extend his senses out and around them, and found that the nen signatures had closed in while he had been looking for a safe place to park their vehicle out of sight of car thieves. Kurapika waited quietly by his side while he scrutinized each of the signatures with as much detail as was possible without facing their owners directly.

"Well, they're definitely up to something," Kuroro murmured after he was done. "I feel aggression, and anticipation…" He opened his eyes and grinned at his companion. "Shall we go see what they want us for?"

The blond rolled his eyes, then followed him as he strolled leisurely out of the darkness and into the light of the main street. That part of the city being more industrial than commercial, there weren't that many people around, which made their pursuers even more conspicuous. Kuroro spotted the first two right off the bat – two burly and unshaven men, walking up the sidewalk towards them. He even made eye contact with one of them, before the pair abruptly made an about-face and hurried away – to alert the rest of the hunting party, Kuroro assumed.

"Do you think we have time for coffee before they attack us en masse?" Kuroro asked Kurapika lightly, to which the boy could only shake his head in amused exasperation. The earlier awkwardness following their argument had disappeared, skillfully dispersed by Kuroro's teasing questions.

As it turned out, they could have had a quick cup if they wanted to; the pair of scouts reappeared nearly ten minutes later with a dozen men in tow. Kuroro and Kurapika continued their casual stroll, all the while keeping track of the suspicious-looking gaggle and waiting for them to make the first move.

Kuroro was in the midst of wondering who would have the audacity to send such a force after them when Kurapika gave him a discreet nudge. A similar-sized group had appeared on the street in front of them, creeping out from side streets and avenues to form a loose – but effective block. The other people on the street, perhaps seeing the sudden increase in the local thug population and sensing imminent trouble, were all hurriedly backing away, taking refuge behind the walls and the windows of the public buildings.

"Do all bounty hunters look like that?" Kurapika asked him dubiously under his breath. "They all look like plain thugs to me."

"There are all kinds," Kuroro replied mildly. "Some less professional than others. Of course, we're still not sure if these are really bounty hunters –"

One of the men in the group in front of them broke away and charged suddenly, waving a seven-foot-long stick and yelling a full-throated battle cry. The overall effect would have been nicely theatrical, if not for Kuroro snapping his fist out in a straight jab as soon as the man got within striking distance. The force of his head-on punch crushed Thug Number 1's nose, forcing him to choke on his own battle yell, and also flipped him over so that the back of his head struck the ground first before the rest of his body followed.

Kuroro opened his fist and flexed his fingers. "Well, scratch _that_ idea," he continued dryly. He bent down and picked up the wooden staff that the thug had dropped, and offered it to Kurapika, who accepted it bemusedly.

"You trained more extensively with bladed weapons, right?"

Kurapika nodded and hefted the stick to test its weight and balance. Then he gave it a couple of experimental twirls, making the two ends blur into a deadly-looking disc. The staff actually made a low whirring sound as it spun in the blond's hands. It stopped, trembling slightly from the force of the spin, with Kurapika holding it upright. The boy looked at Kuroro with an eyebrow raised in approval.

"I think I can manage," he answered evenly.

The entire troupe had frozen upon seeing one of their own so easily knocked out – watching Kurapika twirl that staff around like he'd been using it his entire life had probably given them reason to tread carefully, too – but now, almost as if the blond's self-assured statement had been an insult, the men roared angrily and attacked all at once.

Thug Number 2 went down as easily as his predecessor did. Kuroro leaned back to avoid the hunting knife – and Kurapika's staff as he swung it down hard on the man's knuckles. The man howled as the delicate bones in his hand broke. He dropped his guard along with his knife, and Kurapika took that chance to strike at the man's knees.

Thugs 3, 4, and 5 were defeated in more or less the same manner – Kuroro drew them in with feints, and Kurapika took them out with vicious, incapacitating attacks against their limbs. Thugs Number 6 and 7, Kuroro personally sent flying with a right hook and a back kick, respectively. 6 smashed into a telephone pole and 7 somehow took the top off a fire hydrant. Numbers 9 and 10 were dispatched together when Kuroro broke Number 8's neck – he looked a bit like Zenji, the poor bastard – and threw his corpse against the nearest two thugs. The entire pile crashed through the window of a store front and didn't get up again.

That must have been the point when their pursuers realized that just plain attacking wouldn't cut it. Around half a dozen went for their machine guns; Kuroro heard the clicking of the weapons being cocked over the roar of the mini geyser that had erupted from the fire hydrant. He would much rather find a convenient wall to hide behind than use energy for _ten_, but since the middle of the street was empty – and he couldn't hole up in any of the stores, and involve innocent bystanders and invoke Kurapika's wrath – he would have to settle for grounding himself and putting up a shield. His partner, probably thinking the same thing and remembering their earlier conversation, flitted into place behind him. The difference in their body sizes was enough for Kuroro's larger build to shield Kurapika's smaller one perfectly.

The gunfire lasted for quite a long time – at least ten seconds, by Kuroro's count. Their opponents had brought a lot of ammunition with them, but not that more was any better than less. Each and every one of the bullets caught on his _ten_ shield and were deflected off, either dropping to the ground, spent, or ricocheting off to the street somewhere. The two of them were vulnerable to other attacks, standing still as they were, but the hail of bullets protected them as effectively as an impenetrable barrier would have – none of the other men dared go near them for fear of being hit by friendly fire. Kuroro and Kurapika, standing back-to-back, only needed to wait it out.

They were far enough from both sides of the street so that none of the bystanders would be pulled into the heavy gunfire, but some of the thugs, specifically the ones they had knocked out failed to get out of the way. They died where they had fallen, indiscriminately cut down by their own allies. Kuroro spared them one brief glance of clinical interest as he tallied the number of victims. They'd already taken out a third of the force between the two of them, and barely a minute had passed. This was one ridiculously weak group of bounty hunters.

The gunfire petered off and a heavy silence descended on the street. Kuroro and Kurapika were left standing at the middle of an area littered with bullets and bodies.

Kuroro looked at the gunmen, who were clutching their useless guns incredulously, and smirked.

"Is that all?"

"No."

One of the nearby bodies he had thought to be dead suddenly reared up and clamped down on his left wrist. Kuroro started – and saw that the "corpse" also had a hold of Kurapika's right arm. He twisted and brought his right hand down in a chop, but the man let go as abruptly as he had touched them and leapt away, cackling madly.

"Got you!" the corpse giggled.

Kuroro blinked and look down at his left hand. There was a glowing band of nen around his wrist, and something that looked like a length of chain connecting it to a similar band around Kurapika's right hand. He took hold of the chain and gave it a light tug – it held. He could immediately tell that he wouldn't be able to break free of it through normal means.

"Interesting ability," Kuroro murmured. "How did you do it?" he called out to the man – who, incidentally, did look remarkably like a desiccated corpse, with skinny, gangly arms and legs, jutting cheekbones, eyes bulging out of their sockets, and cadaverous skin mottled with age spots.

"Played dead," the man said gleefully. "Got near you. Touched your shadows for twelve seconds, then touched you both at the same time. Got you good, din' I? 'Course, might've bin hit by a stray bullet, but I knew that 's long as I lay down nice and flat, you'd protect me just as well as you protected that pretty little Kuruta over there."

Kurapika's eyes widened and he gave a startled twitch, nearly imperceptible if not for the tiny jingle his bracelet produced with the movement.

"Surprised? We're gonna catch you, bring you back, get ourselves a nice rewa–"

"Hey, how do you remove this?" Kuroro asked.

The man scowled at being interrupted. "Ain't gonna tell you. What, you think I'm stupid?" He then scuttled away in an odd leapfrogging gait, back among the other thugs, but not exactly out of the way or out of the line of fire. Maybe he had to be within a certain distance to maintain the skill.

"Believe it or not I actually did," Kuroro muttered under his breath. He turned to Kurapika, who had gone tight-lipped and tense.

"Well, that confirms my suspicion that they're really after you. I'm probably just the side dish this time."

"What do we do now?"

Kuroro smiled reassuringly. "We continue what we've been doing, and try to get to that man as quickly as possible. This," he flapped his left hand, making the chain sway back and forth, "shouldn't be that big of a handicap, as long as we move carefully."

One of the larger thugs – a nen user, from what Kuroro could sense – stomped a few steps closer, flexing biceps as big as bowling balls and pecs as broad as dinner plates. He looked like a mountain bear, at over seven feet tall, and was almost as hairy. Kuroro wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"All right, ladies, this is our chance! Lucifer ain't that hot if Fesuto surprised him. Let's get 'im an' get our reward!"

The stirring speech drew roars of approval from the surviving men – and Kuroro tried to suppress the annoyed tic he could feel developing under his left eye. Big and Hairy then let his aura explode around him, disturbing the dust and air into a small blast of hot wind – a poor imitation of the gale that Ubogin could summon even at half strength. Strengthening _hatsu_, Kuroro's mind whispered to him, and the other three behind B&H were probably either releasing or changing, because they were wielding various weapons in styles that reminded him of Nobunaga's katana. Kuroro readied himself to receive the attack that he could see was coming. Beside him, Kurapika did the same thing, bending his knees slightly and lowering his center of gravity.

Big and Hairy charged – the trademark attack of all simpletons endowed with a modicum of strengthening-type nen. Kuroro and Kurapika easily avoided it, both jumping to one side out of the way of the huge arms. The opponent's lower torso was wide open; Kuroro saw the chance to attack – and that was when their troubles started. He drove his right fist into the man's exposed waist, aiming for the spleen, at the exact same moment that Kurapika was bringing his staff around to strike at the back of the man's neck. The movement inadvertently pulled at the chain connecting them, yanking at Kuroro's left arm and throwing him and his attack off-balance. What was supposed to be a spear-like jab into a vital organ turned into a glancing blow against the ribs, and Kurapika's attack also lessened in power with his right arm restricted as it was.

B&H shook the blows off, then raised a forearm and focused his will into it – again, telling Kuroro exactly what was coming. He gathered his own nen into his arms and his upper body, and took one step to the side in front of Kurapika.

Kuroro caught the backhand and let the force of the blow push them back a few feet instead of trying to withstand it. He could feel Kurapika bracing him with an arm. Yelling at his back alerted him to the fact that the three other weapon-wielding nen users had circled around them. Kurapika flipped his staff around so that his left hand was holding it by its end, then swung it one-handed in a wide circle. The tip whistled through the air and forced the three attackers to back away. Kuroro turned his attention back to Big and Hairy, who was bearing down on them again.

For all of the strengthening nen user's size and mass, he wasn't a very good fighter. He had power, yes, and he knew how to enhance his attacks with nen, but said attacks were repetitive and predictable. He focused too much on charges and punches. He was pulling his right arm back now, chambering it for another right hook. Kuroro gestured at Kurapika to stay back. Hopefully the blond would also understand that they needed to move together for this.

Big and Hairy let loose with another loud bellow and came at them swinging. Kuroro ducked past the punch and turned so that his back faced the man – he didn't have to crouch very low to position himself, but Kurapika, sensing what he wanted to do, went down on one knee in front of him and raised his right arm to give the chain a bit of slack for Kuroro's maneuver.

Kuroro grabbed at the extended arm and took a deep breath. He let out a shout and heaved – and threw B&H's entire 7-foot, 300-pound frame over his shoulder, and right into his three weapon-wielding cohorts. With any luck he'd crush at least one of them – or better yet, get impaled on one of the swords.

Another chorus of yells signaled the entrance of the rest of the horde; around ten of the normal thugs were rushing them from all directions. Kurapika threw his staff, javelin-style, and hit the first man squarely in the forehead. Kuroro grinned at the artistry of the throw, then hurriedly ducked to avoid an axe. He kicked the axe-wielder in the back and broke another man's arm; he felt a third man approaching from behind and turned to intercept – only to slam into Kurapika while the boy was trying to pivot in the middle of executing a roundhouse kick.

Their opponents gleefully took advantage of the few seconds they spent untangling themselves. Kuroro spotted someone swinging a baseball bat from the corner of his eye, and he felt the impact a split-second later when the thug smashed it against the back of his skull. Kurapika, on the other hand, had taken a baton to the face, and a cut on his temple was bleeding profusely. His eyes had also turned red.

Kuroro lashed out with a front kick and managed to send one man careening into his fellows. He turned around to tell Kurapika to calm down – and barely avoided the flailing arms of the baton-wielder who Kurapika was currently choking in a headlock. Just before the man lost consciousness the Kuruta placed a foot on his back and pushed – very likely at full Scarlet Eye-enhanced strength, because the man took off like a shot, rolling and tumbling to a sorry stop at a full thirty meters away.

Kuroro frowned. It wasn't normal for the blond to be using his full strength against ordinary people. He might even have killed that man had it been a point-blank punch or kick. Anger and frustration was wearing away at the young man's restraint – and while he'd welcome the boy's change of heart in any other occasion, now was not the time or place for him to run wild with his abilities, not when they couldn't move independently of each other. He opened his mouth to try to talk to the blond again, and again, had to duck in a hurry as Kurapika swept his leg up and around in a hook kick. He actually clipped Kuroro's ear as his heel cut through the air and into the temple of another thug who'd been trying to sneak up on Kuroro.

"Hey, did you just –"

"Scatter!"

The shout came from some distance away, followed by the loud whoosh of something being propelled artificially against the natural laws of gravity. Kuroro saw the dark green tube, the trail of smoke, and the snub-nosed warhead heading their way at over a hundred meters per second.

Some idiot had just launched an RPG. And the men around them were indeed scattering, scrambling away madly out of the path of the anti-tank missile. Considering the circumstances, running away was the best idea – while he was confident that he could withstand a blast from a grenade, Kuroro was certain that Kurapika couldn't in his present state. He started to leap back, towards the sidewalk nearest to him – the right side of the street. He managed to move a few inches before his left wrist erupted in pain. On the other side of Fesuto's nen handcuffs Kurapika had also decided to avoid the missile, only, instead of following him to the right side of the street like Kuroro had expected him to do, the blond had jumped in the other direction, toward the left side of the street.

Kuroro swore. There was no more time for either of them to change direction; the RPG was just meters away. He reached for the chain and yanked as hard as he could, pulling Kurapika towards him. Kuroro caught a glimpse of the blond's eyes widening in surprise before they hit each other in midair; he wrapped his arms around the blond and turned as best as his agility would allow him to.

The anti-tank missile exploded upon impact with the ground a few feet behind them. Kuroro saw and heard the explosion more that he felt it; he had called on his nen to protect himself, and he'd also extended it to include Kurapika as well, so the intense heat and the accompanying concussion passed through without hurting either of them.

He couldn't say the same for his clothes, though; the flames, the soot – if he was lucky they'd only be dirtied. But his back had been exposed to the explosion, so at the very least his jacket should have been singed beyond repair.

The force of the blast had blown them forward a few feet, some distance away from ground zero, which now featured a massive ball of fire giving off thick black smoke. Kuroro landed and set the blond down, then grabbed at his manacled wrist and started running. The boy seemed too disoriented to do anything else except to follow – which was perfect, because it gave them time to find a hiding spot before he could start with his protests.

"Why are we running away?" Kurapika demanded as soon as they ducked into an alley.

"Regrouping. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't working," Kuroro answered curtly. He'd expected the boy to argue with him, but that didn't make Kurapika's defiant tone of voice any easier to tolerate. He really wasn't used to having his actions and orders questioned during a combat situation.

Kurapika stiffened. "Am I getting in your way after all?"

"No! It's just –" Kuroro ran his free hand through his hair frustratedly. "It's just that, moving around each other while we're tied up like this is turning out to be more difficult than I'd expected."

"Then you should stop trying to protect me – in fact, you should fight as you normally do!"

"I can't do that," Kuroro snapped. "I can't help but step in, either, when I see an attack that I know you can't take."

"I don't –"

Kuroro poked at Kurapika's injury, making the boy hiss as his finger scraped against the raw wound. "Because _this_ is what happens when you get hit in your current condition."

Kurapika snarled wordlessly and jerked his head away.

"I'm not saying that you're weak," Kuroro went on before the blond could say anything else. "Your power and speed are the same, but your defense has been decreased significantly. An attack like that backhand would have caved your chest in, and that explosion – you could have sustained serious burns if I didn't shield you from the blast. And you can't heal yourself the way you used to. Is it any wonder that I'd feel the need to stop you from getting hurt?"

Kurapika didn't answer, and Kuroro could almost see the blond reeling back from the reprimand. _Good. If some tough love was what it would take to break through his stubborn belief in his independence –_

Kuroro exhaled slowly and stemmed his rising temper. He was getting irritated with the fact that he couldn't dispatch of his enemies as quickly or as efficiently as he would like to. He needed to remain calm, else his abilities wouldn't be of any use to himself or to his younger companion.

"Look, we're both way too tense," he tried again, with a more mild-mannered tone this time. "You more so than I am, especially after finding out that these guys know you're a Kuruta. That information's bound to come out sooner or later. I mean, you did reveal yourself to Zenji."

Kuroro stopped and cocked his head. Shouting somewhere nearby, and the roar of the flames from the explosion had died down. Their opponents must have discovered that they were missing and were starting to look for them. It wouldn't be long before someone found them.

"But you shouldn't let that affect your performance," he continued. "We'll get to that – and believe me, I _have_ thought of what we should do in case your bloodline is discovered – but in the meantime you should try to relax."

Kurapika shook his head tiredly, but at least Kuroro's words were taking effect. He could see the teen's shoulders dropping, and his stiff posture slumping to a more natural stance. The red in his eyes was also fading, bleeding away to reveal bright blue glazed with exhaustion. That made Kuroro think for a second. The fight was starting to take its toll on the blond, who didn't have the benefit of nen to increase his stamina. He'd also used his Eyes, which probably ate up his energy twice as quickly. They had to finish off the remaining thugs as quickly as possible and get that desiccated corpse to remove the handcuffs.

"Good. That's good. You were doing well before you tensed up. Now, try not to think too much about matching my movements. Remember your fight with Hisoka?" Kuroro asked. Kurapika nodded.

"You moved instinctively back then. If you can do that now your reaction time should improve greatly. Just try to feel your way through your stances – your body will know what to do."

"That's a bit difficult to do under the circumstances," Kurapika muttered, more out of a desire to say something than to disagree with the older man's suggestion. He absentmindedly wiped at the blood trickling down from his head wound. "Sorry," he added, eyes flicking a quick glance up at Kuroro. "Does your ear hurt?"

Kuroro blinked at the non sequitur. _Oh. He meant that kick earlier._

"No. No, it doesn't."

"Your wrist?"

"I think yours probably hurts more than mine," Kuroro said slowly as he stared at the boy's right wrist, which he suddenly realized looked painfully swollen.

"Oh. It doesn't hurt, actually," Kurapika remarked. He held it up to eye level for a better look, then winced when he saw how inflamed it was. "Although it does seem to be broken. Or dislocated. Sprained, at the very least."

Kuroro grimaced at the boy's cavalier description of his own injury. Either he was in shock, or adrenaline was speaking for him. In any case, he wouldn't be able to attack with that arm now, not if he didn't want to aggravate the damage.

"Tell you what." Kuroro took out the plain white handkerchief he always kept handy in a back pants pocket and started binding the swollen area as tightly as he could. "Let me deal with the nen users, and you take out the ordinary thugs. Does that sound fair?"

The blond nodded distractedly. He seemed morbidly fascinated by the swelling and the alarming red shade the skin around his wrist had taken. Lasting physical injuries were rare for him ever since he discovered his _tokushitsu_ skill, after all. The one time that he'd injured either of his arms seriously in the past five years was during his fight with Ubogin, and Kuroro knew that he'd healed that one immediately.

"I think I'll leave Fesuto for last, though," Kuroro added as he frowned at the band of nen around his wrist. "An ability that annoyed us this much deserves a page in my skill book."

"There they are!"

Shots rang out, and bullets started to pelt the corner of the wall they were hiding behind.

"Ah. They've found us," Kurapika said blankly, like someone disconnected from the reality of his predicament.

_Is that the shock talking for him, too?_ Kuroro wondered. He materialized his skill book and flipped through its pages. Kurapika watched him with an almost childish curiosity.

"Do you have a plan?" the blond asked.

"Somewhat." Kuroro stopped at the page with the hawk-eyed woman. "Let's demonstrate the proper way of charging an enemy, since they seem to like that method so much."

--- end of chapter nineteen ---

Additional notes:

"Quaere verum" means "seek the truth" – yeah, I suck at thinking of titles. I wanted to go with "Bounty Hunting for Idiots", but that sounds even crappier, so I just settled for something that would describe Bashou's situation, since he _is_ looking for the truth.

I apologize for any vagueness in the fight scenes. What little first-hand knowledge I know of martial arts moves came from the one summer I got talked into taking taekwondo lessons. I didn't continue after I received my yellow belt, so I'm woefully inadequate in the art of self-defense. Thank god there's Wikipedia.

… And would you believe that I had to keep track of the thug numbers on a Notepad file? I should really think of more effective way to describe massive fight sequences.

Oh, Fesuto is a completely random character. I only gave him a name because I didn't want to keep referring to him as Thug Number so-and-so. I wanted people to think about rot and decay when they read about him. I could have used Gollum, but that didn't feel original, and so Fesuto – "Fester" was born. In any case, he won't be appearing again.

April 3, 2007.


	20. Synchronicity

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Being handcuffed together gives Kuroro and Kurapika the chance to learn how to work with each other's fighting styles, and Bashou finally gets the answers to his questions.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, violence, and wanton killing of cannon fodder characters.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm a jobless college graduate.

**A/N :** Reposted with Mistress 259's edits. I got rid of a lot of commas and rephrased Kurapika's answer to Bashou's reaction to how he revealed his Kuruta lineage so casually.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 20 – Synchronicity

Thug Number 18 was elated. He felt invincible, elevated in the eyes of his colleagues. Because, he'd managed to score a hit against that smug bastard Lucifer, hadn't he? And he was the one who found their targets hiding behind an alley, and the one to alert the others about their location. That surely meant that he was stronger, and more alert than the mercenaries who had gone on to the great beyond before him. It meant that he stood a greater chance of survival, of living long enough to claim his promised reward from his employer.

He clutched his trusty baseball bat nervously and ignored the hysterical giggle that escaped his lips as the men in front of him started shooting blindly into the alley.

No human can survive that barrage, he thought as he saw the sheer number of rounds being expended. And the gunfire was so loud and deafening, like man-made thunder. Bits of concrete were flying off the walls and the ground, losers of a battle of force against the awesome power of technology. Oh, yes, they got them now, they got –

"_Werk!_"

Werk?

Thug Number 18 looked around wildly for the source of the choked yell – and found it, several meters behind him. Two of his fellows were sprawled face-down on the ground, and Lucifer and the Kuruta were looming over their bodies like evil monsters sprung right out of the fairy tales his mother used to read to him.

Wait, how did they get there? They were in that alley a second ago!

Thug Number 18 whipped his head back to the front of the group and saw that his colleagues were still firing at the alley. They didn't know that their targets had already relocated somewhere else – right behind them, in the perfect position to launch a surprise counterattack against them.

He turned around, bringing his baseball bat up across his chest, and a warning shout ready on his lips – which died to a wheeze when he found himself face-to-face with none other that Kuroro Lucifer himself. Thug Number 18's eyes bugged out. In the few seconds that he'd turned to the front to look at the now obviously empty alley, Lucifer and the Kuruta had attacked again, inhumanly fast, to take out two more of his fellow mercenaries.

He was the last person left in the rear guard.

"Ah," Lucifer said, almost pleasantly. "Mister Baseball Bat. Great timing! I'd been itching for a chance to get back at you for that hit earlier."

Thug Number 18 whimpered.

-- -- -- -- --

Their transfer was no more discomfiting than all the other times he'd used the skill to teleport himself. In fact, he hardly felt the usual jolt. The thrill of the battle was probably making him more sensitive than usual, refining his control over his nen. Kuroro closed his skill book and let it fade from view, and then looked to the side to see Kurapika carefully balling up his free hand, eyes already narrowed and focused on the neck of the man he'd chosen to attack first.

No one had seen them teleport to back of the group, so there was no great need to coordinate their movements just yet. They only had to trot forward a few steps and knock out one man each. That brought the body count to nineteen. And still no one had noticed, as they were all gleefully watching the barrage against the hapless alleyway. Kuroro took out Number 20 next, and Kurapika had time to attack 21 in the same silently merciless manner before someone finally turned around to confront them.

"Ah, Mister Baseball Bat!" Kuroro greeted happily. "Great timing! I'd been itching for a chance to get back at you for that hit earlier."

Mr. Baseball Bat whimpered and fainted, crumpling to the ground in a boneless heap even before Kuroro could move. The wooden bat clattered to the cement road noisily, alerting the last eight thugs and putting a stop to their wasteful consumption of ammo.

Kuroro felt tempted to pose and taunt them for a bit; they were all looking so confused and surprised, nicely set-up for a round of insults, but he remembered his earlier vow to finish the fight quickly. He caught Kurapika's eye and discreetly made a couple of gestures with his free hand – a flat palm lowering, then a close-fisted, jerking motion to the side. The Kuruta's blue eyes lit up mischievously, and his left hand reached over and grasped the materialized chain close to his handcuff.

The first of the eight recovered his wits and charged with head down and arms pumping. Kuroro's _gyou_-enhanced vision showed him that this one had a cone-sized cap of nen adorning the top of his head – it was probably meant to function as a battering ram. Of course, that charging-bull posture afforded no line of sight to the opponent whatsoever. They waited until the last moment, then swiftly leaned down and used the taut chain to trip the charger, sending him plowing into solid cement. Kuroro axe kicked the man into unconsciousness before he could get up.

The next pair was a bit more difficult to defeat. Both kept to a distance, preferring to engage them with their weapons – long iron nails for Thug Number 24, which he kept throwing at them from a seemingly endless supply, much like Hisoka with his playing cards, and a flying cannonball for Thug Number 25, which was capable of dealing massive damage with enough momentum behind it. Kuroro and Kurapika had to do a fair bit of running and dodging and ducking, because they couldn't deal with one without the other attacking them incessantly from behind. It was inconvenient and tedious and time-consuming, and it made them vulnerable to traps and ambushes from the other thugs.

Thirty seconds in – an unbearably long time in a fast-paced brawl where a lot could happen in a single second – Kuroro realized something. Kurapika's footwork was getting more nimble, more precise. The boy had started out slowly, with awkward and uncertain steps. The difference was imperceptible, but Kuroro had been watching closely, paying as much attention to his partner as to his opponents. All that running and jumping around was actually helping the blond adjust, giving him time to find that state of mind that Kuroro had mentioned. Now he was moving more fluidly, and more gracefully, instinctively matching Kuroro's movements even without visible or verbal cues. He even managed to take out one of the other thugs in passing – one of the weapon users with Big and Hairy, the one who used a flail. The man had tried to take advantage of their preoccupation with Thugs 24 and 25, only to have Kurapika knee him – hard, in the gut, after the blond avoided a low swing aimed at his legs.

Things got ridiculously easy after that. They just kept dodging the nails and avoiding the cannonball, frustrating their opponents to no end. From then on it was a simple matter of maneuvering everyone into position. Kurapika was content to let him lead, and so Kuroro led his partner and their two attackers on a merry chase – almost a dance, really, one that culminated in the two of them standing between the two attackers. Then Kuroro hesitated, faking an expression of indecision. 24 and 25 interpreted that one falter as an opening and attacked immediately. They failed to realize that they were facing each other with only a few meters between them. They only saw that failure when Kuroro and Kurapika jumped to the side at the last second, but by that time it was too late to avoid each other's projectiles. Thug Number 24's nails sank into Thug Number 25's chest, and Thug Number 25's cannonball smashed into Thug Number 24's skull.

Kuroro paused to admire his handiwork before straightening from the semi-crouching position he had landed in. Kurapika was shaking his head incredulously.

"I didn't think that this strategy was applicable in a real battle."

Kuroro grinned. "I wasn't sure, either. But I've always wanted to try it. Worked well, didn't it?"

"Lucky for us that they're as stupid as you said they were, then," Kurapika said with a faint smile. He turned to face the remaining nen users. "Four more to go. Or rather, three more before you get to grill Fesuto for his ability."

Number 27 was probably a strengthening-type user. He was stocky and well-built and had large amounts of nen coating his muscular arms. They would never know what his ability was, though, because Kurapika kicked him in the groin even before he could shape his aura into something recognizable.

"His fault for wearing a wrestling singlet without a jockstrap," Kurapika said with an unsympathetic shrug when Kuroro raised a questioning eyebrow at his target area of choice.

28 didn't even get the chance to call on his nen. He saw his wrestler friend fall, and he rushed forward with a warbling cry, desperately slashing his double knives in long, erratic sweeps. He might have forgotten to use his nen in his fright – Kuroro quickly put him out of his misery with an elbow strike at the back of his neck.

"And then there were two," he murmured.

Fesuto was watching them nervously from behind Big and Hairy's massive legs. "Hey, this ain't turning out like we planned," the skinny man muttered to his larger companion.

"You're still alive?" Kuroro called out. "I thought for sure that you'd knocked yourself out when I threw you."

It took Big and Hairy a few seconds to realize that Kuroro was talking to him.

"Shaddup! I'm gonna get you good for that!"

"I wish that they'd at least send erudite mercenaries after us," Kuroro told Kurapika with an exaggeratedly wistful air. "Ones who know proper grammar and diction, so I won't have to feel myself shriveling every time they mince their pronunciation."

He didn't think that Big and Hairy knew what "erudite" meant, but he made sure to properly convey his disdain – and in case that failed to make an impact, Kurapika had picked up on his acting. The boy was watching their last two opponents with a mocking half-smile on his face.

B&H let out an angry bellow and charged, yet again the same charge that they'd already seen several times and could dodge perfectly by now even with their eyes closed. Kuroro ducked, Kurapika side-stepped and grabbed a fistful of B&H's braided hair and yanked, forcing the man to tilt his head back and expose his chin. Kuroro leapt up from his crouch, planted a foot on the broad chest for leverage, and drew his other foot back as far as it could go. He added a bit of nen in for good measure and then snapped his foot forward, driving the balls of his feet into the man's chin as if he were kicking a football.

Big and Hairy fell backwards slowly and crashed to the ground with a teeth-rattling boom. In the sudden silence that descended after that, Fesuto's squeak sounded comically magnified. The man turned around and ran.

"Oh no, you don't," Kuroro muttered. He bent down and picked up the nearest solid object – a handgun that someone had discarded early on in the fight – and threw it, straight at the back of Fesuto's head, nearly a hundred meters away.

"Nice throw," Kurapika complimented.

Kuroro frowned as they started picking their way around the numerous unconscious bodies and the debris from the damaged street and sidewalks.

"You know, this feels somehow anticlimactic to me."

"Nothing wrong with an anticlimactic ending," Kurapika replied.

Kuroro grunted noncommittally. It seemed that aside from advanced principles on nen fighting, he would also have to teach the teen how to finish off a fight satisfactorily.

Fesuto's head had developed a plum-sized knot by the time they got to where he was keeled over. He tried to dart away when Kuroro reached for him, but the Geneiryodan head had been expecting that, and his free hand changed course and seized the back of Fesuto's shirt. The emaciated mercenary was light enough that Kuroro could support his weight with just one arm, and so there he dangled like an animal being held by the scruff of its neck. He glared at them furiously, but didn't do anything to fight back. That told Kuroro what he needed to know – that the man wasn't a fighter, and probably only specialized in binding targets with his nen handcuffs.

"Come on, man, don't be a sore loser. Release these restraints, or I'll do to you what my partner did to your wrestling-wannabe friend over there." Kuroro jerked his head at the aforementioned friend, who had passed out with his hands still covering his damaged family jewels.

The defiant glare was instantly replaced by one of terror – meaning that the former had been a front all along – and Fesuto hurriedly held out both of his arms. Kuroro and Kurapika raised their bound wrists, and Kuroro watched closely as the man delicately ran his forefingers along the widths of both manacles at the same time, then down along the one-foot long chain, until his fingertips met at the middle. The manacles and the chain dissipated back into intangible nen and disappeared into the air.

"Finally," Kurapika muttered. With the band of nen gone he could now tend to his swollen wrist more carefully. He started fingering it gingerly, looking for evidence of any breakage. His breathing had evened out as his adrenaline rush wore down, and while he didn't look like he was in any kind of pain or distress, Kuroro would feel better if he could tend to the blond's wrist and temple wound more properly.

"Right." He turned to his waiting captive. "We'll have to do this quickly. You –"

Someone was approaching them from behind. Kuroro raised his guard again and turned around. It was another powerfully-built man, with a moustache and a pompadour hairstyle, wearing cargo pants and a leather vest over his bare chest. His hands were up and open in a submissive gesture. He didn't seem hostile, but Kuroro had encountered bounty hunters who acted friendly or weak on purpose to get him to lower his guard.

On the other hand, this man's nen felt different from the other ten who had attacked them. He was definitely the owner of the eleventh nen signature, the one Kuroro hadn't been sure about.

Just as he was wondering if there was any harm in asking for the man's intentions first before attacking, Kurapika's bewildered voice broke into his musings.

-- -- -- -- --

"Bashou, is that you?"

Good. The kid still remembered him, despite having changed so much that Bashou almost didn't recognize him.

"Uh. Yeah."

His "yeah" sounded weak and uncertain. Bashou coughed and cleared his throat. He felt a sudden urge to scratch his head, as he was wont to do when he was feeling unsure or uncomfortable or embarrassed – like right now. Really, this wasn't his style, to willingly approach people who were so obviously dangerous and insane and far above and beyond his skill level… But if he failed to keep both palms, and all ten of his fingers visible, the dark-haired man who was eyeing him would probably drop his cargo in a flash and come kick his ass to kingdom come.

"Friend of yours?" said dark-haired man was asking.

"Sort of," Kurapika replied. "I worked with him under Nostrad."

"A Nostrad family guard?"

Bashou nodded. "Soon-to-be ex-family guard, actually, the way things are going," he corrected. Kuroro Lucifer's stare became slightly less suspicious – but it wasn't that big of a drop. Bashou swallowed. "Look. Err. Kurapika. Can I talk to you?"

The blond didn't reply, but he turned his head to look at Lucifer. Bashou got the inexplicable feeling that he was asking for permission.

"I'm not here to fight. I'm not _that_ suicidal. I just need to talk to the kid," he repeated lamely, to Lucifer this time.

"All right," the man said after a few moments. Bashou let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Just stay in sight, okay?"

"Wait. We should probably move," Kurapika suggested. He looked around at the destruction they had wrought with a slightly confused, worried expression, like he'd only just realized the extent of the damage. "Someone might have called the police."

"You're thinking like a bandit again," Lucifer teased.

Kurapika colored, and Bashou blinked. It was quite possibly the first time he'd seen the kid with an expression that wasn't cold anger, cool disdain, or stoic indifference. To say that the blond had been a closed-off stiff while he was with the Nostrads would be an understatement, but now, out here, being accosted by bounty hunters for doing something that had angered two mafia family heads, and in the company of one of the worst criminals in the world…

"Well, if you want to get caught by the police then it's fine by me –"

Lucifer laughed, and Bashou stared some more. It was a light and carefree sound, very normal, nothing distinguishing at all. It didn't sound like how he imagined a cold-blooded killer's laugh would be.

"No – sorry, you're right." The man nodded at a nearby building. "Up there, then, on the roof."

Bashou began to walk towards the man entrance of the building, but stopped short when he saw Kurapika following Lucifer to the side, into the alley between that building and its neighbor. Wait. Were they thinking of jumping a five-storey building in public…?

Lucifer answered his question by doing exactly that, powering his leap with just enough nen to make it look irritatingly graceful. The unfortunate mercenary he had caught let out a loud squeal. Bashou couldn't blame him. It was a fairly frightening sensation to have no control whatsoever in a leap like that.

"Show-off," Kurapika muttered exasperatedly – more to the heavens than to anyone near enough to hear – before going up the side in smaller leaps, using the walls to push himself upwards.

Bashou shook his head. He'd only met the two for a few minutes and he was already getting more exercise than during his one-month stint at playing Nostrad's head bodyguard. He jumped up after Kurapika, opting for the single, nen-assisted leap, and landed to see Lucifer and Fesuto by the concrete shack at the middle, and Kurapika walking some distance away, toward the other side of the building.

"All right. First things first. What are you doing here?" Kurapika asked after Bashou had joined him by the edge.

This was the moment where he was supposed to relay Nostrad's offer, and where the boy would either reject it and tell him to fuck off, or accept it and fall down to his knees in gratitude, but since Bashou already knew that said offer was nothing but a scam, Nostrad could go screw himself.

"Nostrad told me that he thinks you got scared of the pressure of the job and ran away," Bashou began. Kurapika's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but the boy didn't say anything. That was as encouraging a sign as any, so he continued.

"He ordered me to come offer you a second chance, and the position of second-in-command. Said that the family would welcome you back with open arms and smiles and beer, but then we both know that Nostrad's a lying bastard."

The blond smiled grimly, like he was seeing something satisfyingly amusing in Bashou's savage words.

"And?"

The question took him by surprise. He really wasn't sure what he'd accomplish by approaching his former co-worker, only he knew that he needed to find answers, and it felt to him that the kid had some of them.

"Well, I guess I'm here to warn you," Bashou said slowly. Not that he thought that Kurapika needed any warning – he and Lucifer seemed to be doing well so far, but the more he thought about it, the more Bashou knew his answer to be true. He would be doing the world a great deal of good by thumbing his nose at his insane boss.

"Nostrad and Zenji are gunning for you. They're working together now. You have me from the Nostrad clan, and those thirty goons you just beat up from Zenji. Only, I was told that they were here to guide me to you. I'd suspected that they'd try to attack you at some point, but I didn't know that they'd be stupid enough to shoot on sight."

The blond frowned. "Maybe I should have killed Zenji after all."

"That was you? You really broke into Zenji's compound?"

Kurapika's eyes moved to catch his, and they stayed there. It almost felt as if the boy was inspecting his demeanor for signs of disapproval.

"Yes. I was retrieving something that belonged to a relative of mine."

"Belonged to a relative," Bashou echoed. That phrasing, combined with the revelation that Fesuto had let slip, plus everything he'd heard from Zenji's men, and the fact that the kid's eyes were a startling blue now when they had been a strangely artificial black before…

"You're a Kuruta."

It wasn't a question.

Kurapika sighed and looked away. "And what if I am?" he asked with a slightly weary air.

Bashou blinked. "You're not worried that I know?"

"Why would I? I've never really lied about my identity. The only reason I hid it was because I knew that I'd be around people like Neon Nostrad." The blond paused and turned a cool gaze on him. "You tell me if I should be worried that you know. Are you planning on hunting me?"

Bashou shivered and suppressed the urge to look away. That cool, calculating look was something new, too. Kurapika had done cool and unsociable before, but now there was an intimidating edge in the way those blue eyes were looking at him calmly. The kid must have picked it up from Lucifer – he pulled the quiet yet deadly act really well.

"Hell, no," Bashou managed to retort. "Like I said, I'm not suicidal, and I'm not stupid. I know my limits. Nostrad can go running to Zenji for all his manpower needs. I don't think he can afford my rates anymore, in any case."

"Why? What happened to his money?"

"You used up almost all of it on that pair of Scarlet Eyes in the auction. Which has been declared stolen, by the way. And Skuwara's dead."

"What? Since when?"

The blond looked surprised – genuinely surprised, which meant that he knew nothing, despite having admitted to committing a crime to retrieve a pair of Eyes. Even if the two attacks were related, it really didn't feel as if Kurapika had anything to do with the other bodyguard's murder. Bashou mentally put that one suspicion to rest.

"That night when you had your day off, I think. Right before you disappeared. His head was cut off. Witnesses say that a samurai did it."

Kurapika closed his eyes in a long-suffering manner. "Nobunaga," he muttered.

Bashou narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you actually know the guy?"

"Unfortunately. At least, I think he did it," the blond added. He opened his eyes and looked at Bashou with what may be apologetic shame. "Even if he is the killer, I can't do anything about it. Not right now. He's part of the Geneiryodan, and loathe I am to admit it, they're too strong."

As he mentioned the name of the dreaded Phantom Brigade, Kurapika's eyes turned to look at the other two people on the roof. Bashou followed the blond's gaze, to where Lucifer was listening to a cowering Fesuto talk. Whatever it was about, Bashou had no intention of prying, if it was making the bounty hunter look terrified enough to piss in his pants.

"That guy's Kuroro Lucifer. One of the Geneiryodan." Again, it wasn't designed to be a question.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't he be dead? I mean, they found his body."

"Oh. That was a fake body. All the others were fakes, too."

Bashou winced. Really, he shouldn't be surprised anymore, but if all those bodies were fakes, then all the Geneiryodan members were still alive and loose somewhere. Suddenly the world was becoming an even more dangerous place to live in.

It really wasn't his business, but if there was even the slightest chance that Kurapika might be in the mood to answer all of his questions…

"And? What are you doing traveling with him, if you don't mind me asking?"

Kurapika grinned humorlessly. "I'm bound to him. If I don't stay with him, I'll die."

Bashou gave the blond a startled stare. "Are you being forced to go with him?"

"Not exactly. Thanks for worrying, but I'm fine." The smile became genuine, and his voice changed from sardonic, back to light-hearted. "It's a long story, but let's just say that he's helping me with something."

Bashou gave in to his earlier urge to scratch the back of his head. He looked away, embarrassed. Man. The kid really looked like a girl. His hair was longer, tied back in a low ponytail, and he wasn't wearing those strangely patterned clothes anymore – which was good, of course, because now he just looked like a pretty kid rather than a doll wearing dress-up clothing. And he looked healthier. Not as thin or as pale as the last time Bashou had seen him. Whatever Lucifer was doing, it didn't seem like the blond was having a hard time.

"Oh yeah. Senritsu. She resigned just after you left." Damn. His embarrassment was reducing his ability to form complex sentences. As if he didn't already feel awkward enough… "Said that she had something she needed to prioritize at the moment. Do you know what she meant?"

Kurapika shook his head. "She was with my friends the last time I saw her. At that time I wasn't in any position to communicate with any of them, so I really don't know what she was thinking."

"Huh." Bashou scratched at the non-existent itch at the back of his head again, as his brain directed his immediate attention to what he was going to do now that he had the answers to his questions.

"Where are you going from here?" Kurapika asked in an eerie echo of his thoughts, making Bashou wonder distantly if the blond was in any way telepathic. Kurapika was watching him with solemn blue eyes, eyes that were more alive than he'd ever seen them before.

Eyes. Those eyes were priceless, Bashou suddenly realized. The 2.9 billion that Nostrad had to shell out was a paltry sum compared to how much the boy in front of him was worth. He would be hunted ceaselessly once word of his existence got out to the public. His privacy, his safety, all of that would be compromised, because even after five years the Eyes of the Kuruta clan still held a mystifying appeal that made men empty their coffers for the "prestige" of owning even one of the thirty-six known pairs.

He tried to imagine what he would do in Kurapika's position, where he would turn to for sanctuary, how he would fight if cornered – and found that he couldn't. Just thinking that the kid would have to live looking over his shoulder every other second was already making his skin crawl with sympathetic anxiety. Bashou began to understand just how big a leap of faith the blond was taking in admitting to him – to a Hunter – that he was part of that extinct clan.

Either that, or he really didn't care. Lucifer certainly seemed perfectly capable of looking after the blond, and Kurapika could fight really, really well. When they fought independently, they had mowed paths through Zenji's men, until Fesuto and his cohorts came up with that plan to restrict their movements. Then they had a bit of trouble with the conjured restraints, but that didn't stop them from adapting with frightening speed. Yes, it was almost scary, watching the two move around and with each other like the handcuffs weren't even there. Bashou wasn't exaggerating when he replied that he wasn't suicidal. He didn't want to get on the pair's bad sides. Ever.

"I'm thinking of taking a break from the hunting jobs for a while," he answered musingly. "Babysitting both Nostrads at the same time tired me out."

"They have that effect on everyone," Kurapika said with a mild tone and a faint smile. "I guess I should apologize for disappearing and saddling you with the two of them."

The boy was teasing him lightly now, with all the serious issues discussed and done with. Privately Bashou wondered if the blond had been presenting them with a false front all this time. It certainly seemed to be that case, as he could clearly see now that the Kurapika he had worked with under Nostrad's service was as far from the real thing as a controlled flame was to a forest fire. He had felt… wrong. Suppressed. Like he had been keeping a big part of his soul restrained and locked away.

Bashou mentally shook himself when he realized that his thoughts were turning flowery. It was the poet in him, the side that tended to emerge in the most inconvenient moments, during the times when he was feeling particularly emotional or inspired. He came back to the present to find Kurapika politely waiting for a response to his apology. Bashou coughed and shrugged awkwardly.

"You don't have to say sorry," he said gruffly. "I've been thinking of taking a vacation for a while now, anyway." He paused, and tried to think of what to say next. He'd never been any good with farewells.

He settled for, "Are you sure you'll be okay traveling with that guy?"

"Yes. He's actually quite tolerable once you get past the robbing and the killing tendencies," the blond replied wryly.

"Right…" Bashou had no idea what to say to that. He decided not to comment on the Kuruta's assessment, and instead furiously began to think of a way to make his leave without provoking Kurapika's traveling partner. Lucifer had finished with his business – Fesuto was sprawled on the floor, either out cold or dead – and was watching them attentively. His arms were crossed as he waited, and he looked relaxed, but Bashou had already seen how blindingly fast the man could attack from a seemingly lazy slouch.

"Well." He held out his right hand with the intention of offering it for a handshake, but then Kurapika's right wrist was injured. So Bashou quickly changed tack and ruffled the boy's hair instead, in a more affectionate mirror of how he had messed up the blond strands the very first time they had met in Nostrad's country mansion. Kurapika wrinkled his nose but suffered the treatment rather than jerk his head away like the last time.

Bashou grinned and said, "Take care, then. Good luck with whatever it is he's helping you with."

Kurapika nodded. "I'll see you around," he said amiably, before turning around and joining Lucifer. Bashou kept his hands by his sides – just in case the Phantom Brigade member was still being cautious about him – and watched as the two exchanged a few phrases, Kurapika deftly freeing his hair from the hair tie for a second and tying it back again to fix the strands that had come loose. Then they walked to the edge of the building. Kurapika turned back and gave one last little wave, and the two jumped off and disappeared from Bashou's view.

"All right. Now what am I really going to do?" Bashou mumbled to himself once he was certain that he was alone on the roof. He was going ahead with his slinking-away plan, of course, but meeting Kurapika, and finding out what the boy was and _who_ he was traveling with had changed things. For starters, the situation was bigger than he'd thought. He could run away easily, sure, but running away bearing information about the last surviving member of the Kuruta clan would be a bit more difficult to pull off.

He peered down the street below to see people running around, yelling about the fire and the bodies and the damage, and generally making a big ruckus about the entire affair. Several ambulances and police cars were parked nearby, plus two firetrucks, and quite a few news vans. The firefighters were seeing to the fire, and the EMTs and the policemen were swarming over the downed bounty hunters. Bashou allowed himself a small smirk when he saw that there were more body bags than stretchers. While the thought of the refined and polite Kurapika being capable of killing was incongruous enough to make him feel uneasy, there was no love lost between him and Zenji's hired hands. They were bounty hunters. They knew the risks of going after high-level bounties. They were stupid, and had been arrogant enough to think that they could provoke the feared leader of the Geneiryodan without challenge. For that fact alone Bashou believed that they deserved their misfortune.

And he really, really didn't like being lied to. Being manipulated. Like what Nostrad and Zenji – and those thirty bounty hunters by extension – had done to him.

Now where should he go? Not back to York Shin, or any of the places where Nostrad and Zenji had estates. He could care less what those two thought of him, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And there was the problem of money. He wouldn't be getting his promised tripled salary from Nostrad now that he was going AWOL, too. He supposed he could fall back on his savings, and traveling wouldn't be a problem since he owned a legitimate Hunter license…

Bashou sighed and scratched his head again. He ambled to the edge of the roof and jumped down into the shadows of the alley. He didn't even give Fesuto more than a passing glance. If he was just unconscious, then he'd wake up on his own. If he was dead, someone would find him soon enough. Either way, Bashou knew that it was better if he didn't involve himself with anyone who had pissed off a Geneiryodan member. Especially _the_ Geneiryodan member that he had encountered today.

He waited until no one was looking at his direction, and then strolled out into the chaos of the main street. No one recognized him, and even if anyone did, they didn't dare call him out, not after witnessing the battle earlier on.

Bashou walked around for a bit to give himself time to decide on a course of action. Something in his surroundings might trigger an idea, or maybe his poetic side might resurface and do the deciding for him. Sure enough, something caught his eye – a poster taped to the window of a storefront, a traveling agency by the looks of it. It was an advertisement about a newly-opened beach resort somewhere on the Aijean continent. He paused, and thought for a bit, then shrugged and went into the store.

It was a good place to head for, Bashou decided as a travel agent got up to entertain him. He could let loose with his poetry there, what with the tropical weather and the tropical flora and fauna and the refreshing sea breezes and the breathtaking sunsets over the waves. And he really did feel like taking a vacation, anyway.

--- end of chapter twenty ---

Additional notes:

See? Two chapters in a row. The combined length of which is almost three times the average length of my normal chapters. I still love you guys, and I haven't gone and died and abandoned this fic. :3

But these two chapters were originally one long chapter, which was supposed to serve as a sort of milestone for Kuroro and Kurapika's relationship. It's that scene there, where they're forced to learn how to fight in sync. I don't think it turned out quite as obvious as I'd wanted it to be, though…

Aside from my usual effusive thanks to everyone who's still reading this, I'd like to give special acknowledgements to Kmyla av and psych ten chan. Kmyla emailed to tell me that fans will continue to read my work no matter how long I take to update, and psych dropped a few comments on my LJ. Their messages really helped me get my act together. (In other words, they stoked my guilty conscience until I gave in and put all my other projects on hold until I finished the update.)

And of course, there's also Yukitsu, who had to go through how many versions of my drafts before I finally finished – she also suggested ways to characterize Bashou, and kept an eye on my characterizations to make sure I didn't stray too far from the canon – and Mistress 259, whose fine-tuned grammar radar spotted _lots and lots_ of extra commas and several embarrassing tense errors. ::sweatdrop:: Obviously, I still have a long way to go as a writer.

April 3, 2007.


	21. The Natural Order of Things

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email :** cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : It's human nature – you can't spend time with a person and not get used to his presence, his voice, his touch. Add in routine, a vow of aid, and bounty hunter attacks once every other day, and even the most resentful of enemies will find himself succumbing to your charms.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes and some swearing.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm a jobless college graduate.

**A/N :** Or, the space I should always dedicate for my lovely beta-readers. Yukitsu had to put up with me poking her incessantly on Yahoo Messenger, and Mistress took time away from her real life to help me get rid of all the nasty plot inconsistencies. This chapter wouldn't have been as nice if not for their efforts.

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WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 21 – The Natural Order of Things

It was a testament to his growing self-restraint that, a week after they started their journey to Shooting Star City, Kurapika didn't react when he found himself realizing all over again just how normal everything was between him and the Geneiryodan leader.

He didn't flinch. He didn't stiffen up and pull away from the warm pressure of Kuroro's hands on his back. He didn't even frown when the errant thought bubbled its way through the haze of the trance he always seemed to fall into whenever they started with their "sessions" – which was the only word he could come up with to describe what they were doing.

He supposed that he could call them treatments, but their… roles, their positions, felt far too intimate to be anything as clinical as the relationship between a physician and his patient. At least, half of him hoped that Kuroro wasn't regarding him as an experimental subject, as something that could quite easily be disposed of once the experiment was finished.

The other half hoped that he did, because otherwise Kurapika would have to start wondering, again, why Kuroro was helping him so willingly, and they'd already gone over that a week ago. Kurapika kept getting this feeling that if he did bring up the question once more, the answer might not be as clearly defined as the last time, and it could be something that wouldn't sit well with his current frame of mind.

At any other time the confused state of his emotions would have sent him into a dark mood, but at the moment he was busy following Kuroro's instructions, maintaining a tenuous hold on that strange _ten_-like state the man had described. It required his full focus, and he couldn't afford to be distracted, not if he wanted his nen back as soon as possible. Kurapika hated the feeling of being defenseless, being dependent on another person for his survival, and he often found himself wondering if there wasn't a faster way than all this plodding along. Maybe he should have suggested that they seek out his nen instructor – surely the man, being a qualified Hunter, would know a better way to fix his nen?

But Kuroro's procedure was working surprisingly well – however slow it was. Already Kurapika could access some of the energy that he could previously feel but couldn't touch, and he could probably already use part of his abilities, but Kuroro insisted that he wait until the entirety of it was freed.

A week, Kuroro said. A week more and his nen would be completely unsealed. A week more until they reach their destination, until Kurapika could start looking for answers to his newest batch of questions.

"Almost done," Kuroro murmured behind him, and Kurapika unconsciously braced himself, slightly clenched hands the only outward indication that he was preparing for anything. A second later Kuroro pushed one last, massive surge of nen into him, through him, washing over him like the pulse of life itself. It lasted for all of a heartbeat but left effects that went on for more than a minute. Kuroro withdrew, quietly getting up from the bed, but Kurapika stayed still as he took deep, controlled breaths. For all appearances he looked like he was still caught up in his meditative trance, but in truth he was maintaining his stillness as a control mechanism.

The effects of having the other man's nen in his system were – to put it bluntly – pleasant. Far too pleasant. Almost like a drug-induced high. If he didn't control himself he might just do something embarrassing. Kurapika doubted that Kuroro knew what the exact side effects were, outside of the all-important end result of his nen being unsealed; the Geneiryodan leader might have theories, or a vague idea of the potential havoc that his nen could cause on his companion's behavior, but they would remain theories as long as Kurapika restrained himself during the time it took for the buzzing in his ears to fade.

The last thing that he wanted to happen right now was for Kuroro Lucifer to find out that his nen was giving Kurapika some really crazy ideas. Like an urge to leap up and warble tunes he'd heard from the car radio like a love-sick drunk.

Love-sick… Kurapika's thoughts stumbled on the unfamiliar word, and one tiny giggle escaped his faltering control. He immediately clapped his hands over his mouth.

Kuroro was looking at him oddly. "Did you just –"

"No, I didn't," Kurapika muttered.

"But I could swear –"

"You didn't hear anything," Kurapika repeated firmly. He snatched his shirt up and put it back on, then unfolded his legs and flopped into a proper sleeping position. The buzzing was stopping, and the usual weariness was setting in, and maybe Kuroro would forget about that girlish giggle come morning…

Exactly eight hours later Kurapika opened his eyes to find Kuroro peering out the window through a narrow slit in the curtains. His eyes were alert, watchful, and Kurapika knew that it wouldn't be appropriate to remark that the man looked like a peeping tom.

"Is something wrong?"

"More hunters," Kuroro replied without turning away from the window.

"I don't sense anything."

"They're normal people. As far as I can tell, at least."

Kurapika frowned. "And you didn't wake me up as soon as you spotted them because?"

This time Kuroro looked at him, the amused light in his eyes and curved lips already well in place. "You needed your sleep. I didn't want you to be grumpy the entire day because you didn't get enough of it. In any case, this group seems different from all the others." The dark-haired man paused and tilted his head in thought. "It's strange, actually. Instead of attacking us immediately, they split into two and checked into the units beside ours… Huh. Bounty hunters who think first before shooting. I think they're getting smarter."

Kurapika quietly got up and moved to Kuroro's side. "How can you be sure that they're bounty hunters if they're not nen users?"

"There's the huge army-issue truck that they came rattling up in. And the hand signals they gave each other as they were splitting up were taken straight out of a commando handbook. The rifles slung over shoulders and the handgun butts peeking out of belt holsters also gave them away. Is that enough or do I have to describe what they were wearing, too?" Kuroro asked archly.

"It's enough, thank you," Kurapika replied as he rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "But are you really sure?" he asked doggedly, not quite ready to relent just yet. "I mean, that sounds more military than bounty hunter. Maybe they're looking for someone else."

"You can never be too paranoid if you have an assigned bounty," Kuroro parroted, as if quoting from a guidebook for class-S bounties. He stopped short, perhaps realizing how stern he may have sounded, then continued speaking in a milder tone. "There are groups like that – they have no nen ability, but they compensate by using high-tech weaponry, and by organizing themselves like a military unit. It places them on equal ground with the lower-ranked bounties."

"Oh."

"Tell you what – we could just leave instead of confronting them. If they don't react when we leave the unit, then it means you're right."

The suggestion made sense. But then, they were being forced to move yet again because of the possibility of an attack. The thought made Kurapika feel a bit mulish. He felt like it had been years since he was last able to just relax and not have to worry about anything. Nevertheless, he couldn't let his irritation get in the way. They had to be ready for anything.

"And if I'm wrong?" he asked with just the smallest bit of effort. Necessary or not, even the thought of having to admit that Kuroro's paranoia was justified rankled.

"Then we run faster," Kuroro answered simply. "I doubt that they'll be able to catch up, even if they were able to bring that monster of a truck out quickly enough to follow us."

It was much too simple for a contingency plan; Kuroro was counting on their ability to react the moment it seemed likely that they were going to be attacked, and perhaps rightly so – both of them _were_ capable of moving faster than any normal human. Kurapika just wished that he didn't have to rely on someone who was apparently so experienced at this cat-and-mouse game that he didn't feel the need to come up with a more thorough plan.

"I don't think they'll be moving just yet. You have a few minutes to get ready," Kuroro informed him.

Kurapika ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself, then hurriedly brushed his teeth and washed his face. He finished in just a couple of minutes, and got out to see Kuroro still standing patiently by the window. "How are we going to do this?" he asked as he stepped closer to the door.

"Just get into the car. I'll drive."

"You mean just walk out and get in and drive away? Do you really think that they'll let us do that without resistance – if they really are after us?"

"Trust me," the man said confidently. "We have a few seconds at the very least. We'll be pulling away before they can even begin to shoot at us."

There was something wrong with that declaration, but as always Kurapika could only obey. It was a good thing that Kuroro had suggested that they leave the few sets of clothes they now owned in the trunk of the car – and even better that they'd already paid for the room in full. There was nothing that could hold them back… except maybe that infernal vehicle. Kurapika tried to calm himself, but his heart was already pounding, the adrenaline rush unavoidable in the possibility of another chase.

Kuroro took hold of the doorknob. Kurapika nodded tersely to show that he was ready, and the older man gave an answering, encouraging nod.

"Now," Kuroro whispered, and pushed open the door, and then they were out into the parking lot in speeds just slightly below their average. For a second it seemed like nobody would be coming after them, but then shouting erupted behind them, and Kurapika chanced a glance back to see doors being flung open and black-clad figures pointing and rushing out of the rooms beside the one they had just vacated. Kuroro's scenario thus verified, they hastened their pace; the older man already had the keys in one hand, and their car's alarm chirped as he disengaged the electronic lock. Glass shattered; one of the hunters had broken a window, and was raising an arm – Kurapika's eyes widened when he realized that the hunter was aiming at him. He yanked open the passenger-side door and scrambled in. A second later something thunked into the leather padding of the door, exactly where he had been standing mere moments before. More objects pinged off the back of the car.

"Close the door!" Kuroro yelled. He already had a foot on the accelerator, and the car lurched forward with a single impatient growl. The open door swung on its hinges, and Kurapika reached out to try to catch the armrest – only to jerk it back as another projectile sunk itself into the leather. Kuroro couldn't wait any longer; the first of the hunters had reached the back of the car and was angling around for an accurate shot at Kurapika through the open door. He stepped down on the gas, and the car shot forward, up the ramp out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The momentum slapped the door against the body of the car, and Kurapika – with a bit of effort because he had to struggle not to get thrown out of his seat by Kuroro's crazy driving – finally managed to get it closed and locked.

He looked back to see their pursuers already diminishing into the distance, black stick figures swarming onto the main road and blocking the early morning traffic.

Kuroro was laughing breathlessly, eyes bright with delight and child-like exhilaration. Kurapika shook his head.

"You actually enjoy getting chased like this."

It wasn't a question, because it was pointless to ask. In reply Kuroro raised an eyebrow and challengingly told him, "Tell me that you don't, even if it's just a little bit."

And the teen found that he couldn't answer that, not without lying. The adrenaline was winding down, forcing him to slump back in his seat and breathe deeply, but along with the sudden tiredness he was surprised to feel something similar to the fulfillment he'd only ever felt after successfully completing particularly difficult physical exercises. He exhaled loudly, not sure that he wanted to explore the unnerving sensation any further, and turned to look at what the hunters had been shooting at them.

Two small objects were sticking out of the leather padding, bullet-like in shape, but tufted with synthetic black feathers at the tail end. Kurapika gingerly pulled one out and examined the needle tip in the morning light.

"Tranquilizer darts?"

Kuroro nodded. "Well, we _are_ worth more alive than dead," he said lightly.

Kurapika resisted the urge to smack his companion. The flippant tone really wasn't helping.

"Throw those out the window. You don't want to prick yourself accidentally on those tips."

Kuroro had slowed down a bit after seeing that nobody was coming after them, but they were still tearing down the highway at breakneck speed, and when Kurapika pressed the switch to open the window, wind rushed into the car and ruffled his untied, still-wet hair into disarray. He quickly pulled the second dart out and flicked both out of the window.

A thought struck him as he was closing the window.

"Did you know that they'd be shooting darts at us?" Kurapika asked Kuroro. "Is that why you were so sure that we'd get away safely?"

"Partly," the man admitted. "I knew that they weren't thinking of killing us outright, because if that was the case they would have taken advantage of their position, sandwiched us by splitting into two, then fired into our room, but instead they tried to be subtle. They clearly knew that we were staying there, so it doesn't make sense that they didn't attack at once, unless they were planning on taking us alive. Maybe they thought that they could take their time aiming while we were walking out of our room. It's too bad for them that I was already awake when they arrived."

The line of reasoning was sound, but… Kurapika pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. "What would you have done if either of us had been hit?"

The older man gave him a lopsided grin. "Were you worried for me?" he asked teasingly.

Kurapika reddened. "No, I meant –"

"I wouldn't have left you behind if _you_ had been hit," Kuroro reassured, smoothly interrupting Kurapika's spluttered denial. "And even if I hadn't been using _ten_, none of the darts would have hit me. I was moving fast enough."

The blond briefly considered seizing the chance to pick at the older man's confident mask – he'd just avoided answering the question directly, after all – but found that he wasn't in the mood to try to deal with Kuroro's method of leading him on with diversions. It frustrated him, that even though he knew he was being maneuvered around like a puppy on a leash he still couldn't do anything about it.

It was also damned tiring.

"What's wrong?" Kuroro asked when Kurapika sighed again and reclined more fully. "Don't tell me all that excitement tired you out."

Kurapika opened his eyes and glared blearily at his companion's concerned face. "Unlike you, I don't get off on being hunted like an animal. If we're lucky, that group back there won't catch up to us until tomorrow." He paused. "Or this afternoon," he added. "So in the meantime I'd like to try to compose myself so I won't get spooked the next time I find people trying to drug me."

The Geneiryodan head gave a slightly startled, bemused blink, and Kurapika closed his eyes and began with his breathing exercises, but a couple of minutes passed, then a few more, of him simply breathing and failing to find that meditative state that he was relying on more and more often. Normally he managed it quickly, because it was the closest he could get to accessing his nen in its present sealed state, but now there was something stopping his thoughts from sinking into tranquility, something like a wayward breeze that wouldn't let fallen leaves settle into their neat piles.

He found the cause easily. Kuroro's teasing annoyed him, sure, but the man _had_ been concerned for him. Kurapika heard the sincerity in his voice. And he'd answered that concern with caustic wit, with a waspish tone that had felt like his only defense at the time. But Kuroro's bemusement had showed something that Kurapika didn't think he would have spotted if they hadn't been traveling together – a very quick flash, swept away as swiftly as it had appeared, of an emotion that looked remarkably like discomfort.

Maybe it was the animal comment. He honestly didn't think that Kuroro would be affected by it – surely the man must have heard worse insults over the course of his nefarious career.

Kurapika opened his eyes and looked at Kuroro's profile. He was holding the steering wheel loosely, back straight and eyes facing forward. His face was serene, and it seemed that he'd already recovered from their quick run. He looked just like any other ordinary motorist out for a relaxing drive.

"Tell me if you're feeling tired," Kurapika found himself saying.

Kuroro half-turned toward him. He looked surprised that Kurapika had spoken.

"So I can take over," Kurapika added self-consciously when it looked like the older man wasn't going to say anything, while inwardly he berated himself for his growing tendency to second-guess everything Kuroro did. He should have kept his mouth shut – it didn't seem as if the Geneiryodan head had taken the comment to heart, after all.

But then Kuroro smiled and nodded, and Kurapika was suddenly struck by how innocent he looked. There was nothing remarkable behind that smile – no ulterior motives, no mixed messages, nothing special other than the fact that it was straightforward and clear-cut, and showed how happy Kuroro was at hearing Kurapika's offer. It couldn't be fake; Kurapika knew very well what false smiles looked like, having had more than enough practice getting other people to believe that he didn't have dark secrets and a priceless heritage to take care of.

It made him wonder why. He'd still have suggested that they take turns even if he hadn't been trying to make his companion feel better; it wouldn't be fair to expect Kuroro to drive the entire day when he was perfectly capable of taking over. So why was the man being so openly happy with something so simple?

Kurapika blinked, and nearly swore out aloud. He was doing it again – trying to second-guess Kuroro's actions and the motives behind them. It would be impossible for him to still his thoughts now. He sighed and looked out the window. Might as well find something to distract himself with, if he was going to be too awake and too aware and too irritated with himself to do anything mentally productive.

-- -- -- -- --

The different feel of the car's rubber tires hitting something else other than asphalt jogged Kurapika out of a pleasant daydream of what his friends might be doing at that very moment. Kuroro was driving them across a short stretch of gravel, lined on one side by what looked to be offices, and bordered on the other by an expansive area paved with more asphalt. Beyond that, Kurapika could see warehouses bustling with workers, containers stacked six deep beside cranes and other dockside machinery, and the bulk of a massive ship anchored along the first quay.

He sat up and looked at the dashboard clock. Kuroro had been driving for two hours, taking them deeper into the city to come out on the other side. They had reached the eastern edge of the Yorubian continent, and the blue waters of what could only be the edge of the Atalantean Ocean sparkled in the mid-morning sunlight.

Kuroro parked in front of one of the offices, and with brisk motions tugged at his clothes and hand-combed his hair into order. Kurapika didn't see why he needed to – even with wrinkled clothes and tousled hair the man looked and acted like some rich celebrity's bastard son. The Geneiryodan leader felt his quiet scrutiny and turned to him with an eyebrow lifted. "You know, I wouldn't have to do all this if I weren't so careful about not upsetting your sensibilities about the legality of our activities," he said, perhaps a bit defensively.

Kurapika couldn't react immediately; he was too busy trying to decide whether he should be getting indignant because Kuroro was blaming him for something that he would have done anyway, bewildered that Kuroro had read the line of his thinking so easily, amused that Kuroro felt the need to justify his grooming habits, or surprised at the confirmation that Kuroro actually cared what he thought of his decisions, enough that he was willing to act less of a criminal. He decided to go for the more positive emotions and turned away to hide his grin as he tied his own hair and pulled at his own rumpled clothes. It was obvious that his companion wanted them to look presentable – for what, Kurapika was only beginning to guess.

"Do you have your Hunter license card?" Kuroro asked him as they got out of the car.

"Yes."

"Good. Have it ready. Normally they don't take reservations this close to the departure date, but I'm counting on your status to get us through normal procedures…"

"What –" Kurapika cut off his question as they entered one of the office blocks – the place had answered it for him. It was a ticketing office for oceangoing trips, complete with agents manning several booths, posters advertising cruises and travel packages, and even an electronic announcement board that displayed the status of several voyages.

"We're going by sea?" he murmured.

Kuroro nodded without saying anything. His dark eyes were scanning the booths, presumably searching for whatever quality in a travel agent that would pass for discrete and efficient in his book.

"Why aren't we going by air?" Kurapika pressed.

"I get airsick easily," Kuroro deadpanned.

The idea that the Geneiryodan leader would have so mundane a weakness as airsickness was so ridiculous that Kurapika almost wondered if the man was joking. "No, seriously. An airship would be faster, especially if we're crossing the Atalantean."

"But there's less room to maneuver on an airship if anything goes wrong," Kuroro pointed out quietly so that only Kurapika could hear. "And I for one don't want to have to fight in a metal blimp being held aloft thousands of feet above the ground by only half a dozen rotors."

Kurapika cocked his head. "Are you afraid of flying?" he asked curiously.

"Not afraid," Kuroro replied stiffly. "I just have a healthy amount of respect for something that looks like it shouldn't be able to do what it's been built to do."

The blond decided then and there that he liked being on the teasing end for once – Kuroro was reminding him of a cat haughtily trying to salvage its dignity after it'd been spooked by a good squirt of ice-cold water. But then, his concerns were reasonable; Kurapika could just imagine what it would feel like for someone like Kuroro – who preferred to have full control of any situation – to have to depend on a pilot he didn't know and a machine he didn't exactly trust. Unless he hijacked the airship or flew it himself, he had no control over it and its flight route, and if someone attacked him, he wouldn't be able to fight all-out in the gondola for fear of damaging the airship.

But that bit about getting airsick… if it was real, did the other Ryodan know about it?

While Kurapika was happily imagining how Nobunaga would react to the revelation, Kuroro had chosen his ticketing booth. He led the way to the booth and bestowed the clerk standing behind it with a charming smile, causing the lady to blush and stammer a welcome. Kurapika had to turn away again so neither Kuroro nor the agent could see him rolling his eyes – and the action gave him an excuse to fall back a couple of steps. He was content to let his dark-haired caretaker – guard? Guardian? He wasn't sure anymore – handle their travel plans, and he didn't like watching Kuroro flirt with complete strangers. It felt dishonest to him, the way the older man could so easily toy with another person's feelings just to get something he wanted.

He flipped through a company brochure and listened as Kuroro booked their tickets and made arrangements to bring their car along as "extra luggage". The ticketing agent balked at first when Kuroro made his requests – it seemed that trips had to be booked weeks before the departure date, just as Kuroro had told him. That was another reason why Kurapika preferred airships to boats, other than the fact that airships were faster – he could get a seat on a flight on short notice more easily than on boats.

But then Kuroro told him to take out his license card, and the question of whether they could purchase a reservation on the very same day of the ship's departure became a moot issue. Kurapika watched in silent astonishment as the lady behind the counter all but fell over her feet trying to ring up their transaction in as short a time as possible – she didn't even give Kuroro's passport (most likely fake again, just like the "legit" account he was using to pay for the purchase) more than a cursory glance after seeing Kurapika's Hunter card. They were done in only a few minutes, which had to be highly irregular. Normal passengers would have to deal with all sorts of inconveniences when it came to intercontinental trips, like travel documents and insurance policies, and other identification issues that the more picky countries required from travelers. And his little square of hard plastic had just blown through all those inconveniences like buckshot through paper.

"What was that all about?" he asked as they exited the office.

"What do you mean?"

"Her reaction… seemed a bit extreme," Kurapika carefully replied. "It was like we'd held a gun to her head."

Kuroro was tucking their tickets into one of his coat pockets. He tilted his head and regarded Kurapika's bemusement with slight surprise. "I don't think you're fully aware of just how much power your Hunter license card has."

Kurapika flushed – that statement all but implied that he was ignorant of his own privileges. "I am aware," he protested. "I've just never tried using it in this capacity before."

"Oh, right. You've only ever used it to get information and free transportation, and access to first class cabins on trains and airships."

"I would have used it to get an extended visa when we were going to Padokia, but Gon refused to use his until he'd settled his issues with Hisoka," Kurapika muttered. He didn't want to sound like he was complaining about Gon's decision at that time, but he disliked being reminded of the reason why it always felt like Kuroro knew him better than he knew himself – that Pakunoda had freely given his memories to the Ryodan like someone handing out information flyers.

"But other than that, you've never thought about using it to get through red tape," Kuroro pointed out.

Kurapika shook his head. "I've never had any cause to do so."

"And you've never tried to use it to get away with something illegal, have you? Even if it's just to test its limits?" the Geneiryodan leader asked with an indulgent smile.

"No. And I wouldn't have to go out of my way to break the law just to try it out now that you're here to do it for me," the blond added in as flat a tone as he could manage.

Kuroro's knowing smile turned into a teasing grin. "I promise that I won't let you down," he said impishly.

"You look like you'd enjoy milking all the benefits that a Hunter ID card has to offer. So why haven't you gotten one for yourself yet?" Kurapika asked, exasperation momentarily set aside as he remembered something in his conversations with a few of the other Ryodan. "Shalnark told me that he's already tried to persuade you to take the exams several times, and you always refused."

"It's just too much of a hassle." Kuroro paused, and pursed his lips as he dredged up what were obviously answers that he'd already repeated several times in the past. "Shalnark's told us about the qualifications, and it doesn't sound fun, taking an exam that I'm overqualified for. And I don't really need the certification to get by."

Kurapika thought for a bit, wondering what would happen if he mentioned a certain someone's name.

"Hisoka didn't need it," he cautiously pointed out. "I think he got it because it'd let him get away with anything. I would have thought that you would want to do the same."

The sharp look Kuroro gave him for that statement made Kurapika worry for a second that the man was going to get angry, but the expression disappeared as Kuroro grimaced.

"I wish you wouldn't compare me with that clown," he said plaintively. "He's a pervert with too much free time on his hands."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound that way."

Silence descended as they both realized that their conversation had become quite strange. Kuroro was probably unused to hearing Kurapika apologize so quickly and so candidly, and Kurapika was only just starting to sense that Kuroro was feeling a bit out of sorts – he seemed more talkative than usual.

It couldn't be because he was unconsciously getting anxious about their trip, could it…?

Kurapika coughed and remembered what he had been thinking before they got into their discussion about his Hunter license card. "If there's a pharmacy nearby I might be able to find ginger candy for you," he said awkwardly.

Kuroro looked at him blankly, probably confused by the sudden change in topic.

"Ginger candy," the blond repeated. "Ginger has been proven to alleviate motion sickness."

"Oh. Thank you, but I don't get sick as easily if it's on an ocean liner. It's massive and stable and won't rock noticeably. It won't be a problem," Kuroro said warily, as if he wasn't sure what to make of Kurapika's concern for his well-being.

_Cute,_ Kurapika thought. It was almost like the older man was afraid that he'd try to get back at him for all the times that Kuroro had fun at his expense. Turnabout being fair play was a common phrase, after all, and from what he'd heard, people from Shooting Star held that particular maxim in high regard, next to the one about eyes and teeth.

"How long will it take us to get to the Aijean?" Kurapika asked offhandedly, again changing the topic for Kuroro's sake.

"Three days," the Geneiryodan head replied. If he knew what Kurapika was thinking – like he always seemed to be – he didn't show it. "From here to New Port is actually only the first leg of the cruise. I managed to book just that."

"So I've heard," the blond said wryly. He'd been listening, after all, as Kuroro spun a tale about how they were planning on making their own way once they got off at the first port of call, and the ticketing agent had believed it easily. "What time are we leaving?"

"In three hours. Do you want to get breakfast first?"

--- end of chapter twenty-one ---

Additional notes:

I'd planned on doing another double post like the last time – I wrote one really long chapter that needed to be cut into two again, but I ran into a few problems with my writing. This first part's okay now, but chapter 22 is still in the middle of a massive overhaul. I'll try to finish revising it as soon as possible, but it'll take at least another week. Or more, depending on whether or not I'm able to bring it up to the standard I've come to expect from my own writing.

Atalantean is yet another invention of mine – it's a play on our own Atlantic Ocean. With such a screwed-up world map and very few of the continents and countries named, we HxH authors have to resort to coming up with our own names if we want our characters to get anywhere specific. Of course, I'll change my invented names accordingly if Togashi comes up with an official atlas.

Oh, I went through my previous chapters and replaced all instances of "blonde" with "blond" – which is really the correct term for fair-haired males. Those of you who've followed my writing from the start might know that Twig's _A Long Hard Road_ heavily influenced my early writing style. She used "blonde" to refer to Cloud, and I got so used to seeing it being employed in that way, that I felt strange using the one without the "e". It's grammatically incorrect, if we want to be really strict about it, but it's one of those little things that we as readers tend to overlook. I guess it's only now that I've managed to wean myself from that influence, and I didn't want to start using "blond" to refer to Kurapika in the new chapters without editing the old ones, too. This won't be the last time that I'll repost my earlier chapters, as this fic is an ongoing labor of love, (I also have vague plans of completely rewriting my earlier chapters, because I can't read them now without wincing at how immature my writing style still sounded back then) but I'll indicate in new posts if I've gone back and did any major changes.

When I started writing this fic I never expected that I'd reach a hundred reviews… and now I have more than 560. I really can't thank everyone enough. To tell the truth, I'm starting to get tired of writing for Hunter x Hunter. It's an old series, after all, and there are lots of newer, more interesting fandoms just begging to be written. It's only because I've been getting such wonderful responses that I'm still writing for this fandom – I don't want to disappoint you all, and I don't want to be seen as a quitter. So, thank you, everyone, for your continued support!

September 8, 2007.


	22. Take It With The Sea Breeze

**Title** : Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

**Author** : lynlyn

**Yahoo ID and email **: cloud121383

**Warnings** : The main pairing here is Kuroro / Kurapika (slash, shonen-ai, yaoi, whatever it is you call m/m relationships) and if you don't like, _then don't read_! But I'll try to focus as much as possible on the plot and character development, and the rating probably won't go any higher than light snogging. Ah, by the way, some knowledge of the HxH world is required, and this fic takes up right after Kuroro's caught by Kurapika in the hotel.

**Summary** : Someone's been tailing our favorite pair, and Kurapika confronts Kuroro about the real reason for his choice of transportation.

**Rating** : PG-13 for adult themes

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Hunter X Hunter, its characters, or anything associated with it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a tech writer with ridiculously low pay.

**A/N **: My beta-readers own my soul – everyone should know who they are by now, but in case you don't, it's Mistress 259 and Yukitsu, fellow authors and grammar goddesses. This project would have veered off path a long time ago if not for their vigilance.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

WILD HEARTS CAN'T BE BROKEN  
Chapter 22 – Take It With The Sea Breeze

"Call for you, Chairman."

The anxiety in his secretary's voice, barely hidden under a thin veneer of disapproval, told Netero who the caller might be. He beamed at Mameso as he held his hand out for the wireless phone, and the shorter man sniffed at his attempt at acting like there was nothing to be anxious about.

"Hello?"

"Chairman."

The voice on the other end of the line was gruff, almost surly, and inflected with the curious rise-and-fall accent of the far-eastern countries.

"How are you holding up?"

The caller snorted. "Well enough, if I forget that you've sent me on a wild goose chase."

Netero nodded to himself. Mameso, watching and waiting at his usual position by his side fidgeted impatiently.

"And the boy?"

"He's fine. More than fine, actually." A pause, and Netero grinned again – he could actually feel the other man's grumpiness bleeding through the telephone line. "They've booked first-class tickets on a luxury cruise liner headed for the Aijean."

"I'm sure Lucifer has his reasons," Netero remarked. He could hardly miss the emphasis on the words "first-class" and "luxury"; idly he wondered if Mameso's ability was getting stronger, enough that it could influence the emotions of someone talking to them through a phone from half a world away – the little secretary and his informant were certainly giving off the same disapproving vibes.

"Reasons?" Said informant now gave a short bark of laughter, more sardonic than amused. "If I didn't know any better I'd say that they look like newlyweds off on their honeymoon. And you know as well as I do that any Hunter with good enough hacking skills can track him down through purchases he's made with his card."

"I'd like to believe that no Hunter alumnus I know would be churlish enough to want to ally themselves with those black market hooligans," the chairman of the Hunter Association said mildly.

"That's incredibly naïve, Chairman; you know better than that."

"Unfortunately," Netero sighed. Well, time to get back to the purpose of the call. "And so? I trust Lucifer knew to move quickly?"

"Yes. No one would be able to catch them mid-voyage, at least – unless someone else has been following them as closely as I have."

"Mm. We can thank the stars that he has enough paranoia for the both of them."

"I still don't think that it's wise to leave him to that criminal –"

"Why, dear boy, are you getting worried for your student?"

"No," the caller growled. "He brought this down on himself. The stubborn brat shouldn't have insisted on learning such a self-destructive technique."

Netero hummed noncommittally once more and groped for the plate of hard plum candies that Mameso had prepared for him. He waited, certain that the other man was going to say something else, and occupied himself with choosing a piece of candy and throwing it into the air to catch with his mouth.

The man spoke again just as he was giving the sweet its first roll around his tongue, resignedly saying, "I suppose it's my fault, too, for yielding so easily. If I'd known earlier on that he could use all six kinds of hatsu when his eyes are red, I'd have suggested a better skill."

"Now that," Netero pointed out with an unnecessary flourish of a finger, "is no one's fault. None of us would have expected such an ability from him, however remarkably talented he is. The only thing we can do now is make sure that he doesn't lose his nen. Speaking of which, how is that coming along?"

"Slowly but surely. Kuroro Lucifer's got half of it unsealed."

Netero nodded exuberantly even though the other couldn't see it. "Good, good. And you'll continue your observation?"

"Got nothing better to do right now. I've already snuck on board as one of the kitchen helpers. Ship's got so many of them that one more won't –" Netero pulled his head away from the phone as the blare of a ship's horn announcing its departure issued from the earpiece, deafening even when filtered through the communication lines.

"Ho, ho, ho."

Mameso was looking at the receiver with a scandalized frown, as if outraged that it would dare hurt his chairman's eardrums.

"It sounds so lively over there, doesn't it?" Netero told his secretary with a wistful air. "I'm envious. Those three boys would be enjoying the sun and the ocean, and they won't have to worry about paperwork…"

"– Chairman?"

The head of the Hunter Association hurriedly lifted the phone back to his ear.

"Sorry about that – damned horn – anyway, I have your permission to intervene if anything goes wrong, right?"

"I'll be praying that it won't be necessary, but yes," Netero replied. "You may aid them if it seems that Kurapika will lose his life or his nen."

"Chairman…" the caller began again after a short pause, and the old man felt his eyebrows rising in surprise. It was rare to hear the other Hunter sounding so hesitant. He waited, but the voice at the other end of the line had fallen into an awkward silence, as if he was having second thoughts about whatever it was he had been about to say.

"Go on," Netero prompted encouragingly.

A deep intake of breath, like the caller was mustering his courage, and then, "Chairman, it's not in my place to question why you're doing all this, but if I'd stepped in a week ago, back when that second Kuruta attacked them…"

Netero smiled. It was an understandable question, and one that told him that his informant's concern for his student ran far deeper than he was willing to admit out aloud. Really, it was heartwarming to see such ideals in young people, and no matter what others his generation kept saying about youngsters these days, the chairman of the Hunter Association believed otherwise. It was for these actions and sentiments that he continued to hold on to his position, rather than retiring like any sane man his age would have done. And it was really unfortunate that he could only watch from afar, and doubly difficult to see graduates he'd inducted getting into harm's way. He was already pushing the Association's rules of non-interference as it was: test them, judge them, give them the power to achieve their dreams if they so deserved it, and then set them out into the world to do what harm or help they could bring with that power…

"We don't know what would have happened if you had interfered," Netero found himself saying with the painful ease of one who'd had more than enough practice at playing what-if. He even remembered to inject the right amount of gentle optimism, perfected over the years of talking with and advising those younger and less experienced than he was. "And it is precisely that we don't know that makes it difficult to tell what would have happened if we'd added a third party into the mix," he added. "Don't dwell in the past, my boy – such questions and thoughts will only hurt you."

"We wouldn't be having these problems if you'd only told the kid that when you interviewed him during the Exam," the caller grumbled.

"He wouldn't have listened. He is the type who becomes more stubborn the more you argue with him."

"Chairman –" the caller sounded suspicious now, "You can't mean to imply that you're making him learn those lessons the hard way?"

Netero beamed again. He suppressed a sudden urge to whistle, and instead he made his reply as innocently frank as all his experience allowed.

"Dear boy, I am merely an observer at this point. Kurapika has been choosing his decisions entirely of his own volition, and I am bound to honor that."

"Right," the caller drawled dubiously. "And I suppose that's also the reason you haven't already taken him into the Association's custody. We can easily find someone to unseal his nen, you know, and there'll be none of this creeping all over the countryside playing catch-me-if-you-can with bounty hunters."

"That would require taking Kuroro along, or somehow persuading him to give Kurapika leave to release his bindings, and I don't think he'd agree to do that," Netero replied. "They're both… admirably willful in that regard. I suppose it comes as no surprise that they both show an aptitude for the _tokushitsu_ aspect."

"But surely they'll listen to reason?"

Netero didn't like throwing people's words back at them, but there were times when nothing could be more effective.

"You yourself said that the boy was the most hard-headed student you've ever taught. Do you really believe that he – or Kuroro Lucifer, for that matter – would take kindly to being ordered around, or confined?"

"… Guess not," the caller said resignedly. "Is there anything else?"

Netero took all of a second to come up with his next instruction. "Since you're there, why not take some time off for the duration of the cruise?" he suggested cheerfully. "Yes, that sounds like a great idea. You can put off your next report until after they disembark."

"I don't think slacking off is possible –" The man stopped as muffled shouting in the background interrupted him, orders in an authoritative bellow. He'd probably lowered the phone, but Netero still heard the answer he yelled back – an almost insolent "In a minute!"

"– should have snuck in as a passenger."

"Ho, ho, ho."

"That's nice, Chairman," the caller grumbled. "Make fun of my suffering, why don't you."

Netero ignored the sarcasm and fondly replied, "Have fun, my boy."

His informant gave one last long-suffering sigh before hanging up.

"This is highly irregular, Chairman," Mameso said as soon as Netero gave the phone back to him.

"Hmm?"

"I know this year's graduates are promising, but to relegate one of our most capable nen instructors to mere surveillance work…"

Netero shook his head. He was normally patient and genial, virtually unflappable, and would answer objections to his myriad decisions in such a roundabout way as to peacefully bring detractors around to his way of thinking, but Mameso had already voiced his opinions of the matter several times prior. Their arguments were starting to get old.

"Are you going to tell me that I should go with the most direct route, too, and say that Kurapika should be taken into custody?"

"No!" The little secretary looked horrified, as well he should be. Such an overt action could hardly be called discreet – not exactly the type of activity that the supposedly neutral Chairman of the Hunter Association should be engaging in.

"I'm just… I'm worried, Chairman. If anyone at the Board got wind that you are using a company resource for your personal interests –"

"That's exactly what I'll tell them!" Netero interjected with an emphatic nod of his head. "It's a personal endeavor, my contribution to society as a Hunter. No one can deny that the Kuruta bloodline is worth preserving. And in any case, I am paying for said company resource's services out of my own funds."

"No offense, sir, but your current stance of just 'observing' while the boy gets himself more and more involved with Kuroro Lucifer seems contradictory to that noble goal."

The older man shook his head again. His assistant meant well, really, but it stung, just a little bit, that his closest acquaintance couldn't see his motives without being led to them. Mameso was much too honest, too dedicated to the drudgery of his work and too methodical in his thinking – perfect for an administrative assistant but not much use as a co-conspirator. Maybe a few more years at the job would give him the out-of-the-box mindset that Netero so liked to utilize for his work in the Association.

But in the meantime, a couple more sly hints wouldn't hurt – and he could already imagine his secretary's dismayed reaction.

"Old friend, what better way is there to protect a treasure from robbers than to leave him in the care of the most notorious one of them all?"

---ooOOOoo---

Kurapika could count the number of times that he'd been on large seagoing vessels with the fingers of one hand – twice, while he'd been traveling alone after the massacre of his tribe, and twice more during the Hunter Exam. Three of those had been on small passenger ships – hardy little vessels that had been constructed with functionality and durability in mind, with little to no attention to luxury and the comfort of the passengers. The fourth one had been on an old grounded warship that had to be blasted out of her stone berth, and required the combined efforts of a few dozen men (and all of Kurapika's skill and stock knowledge about navigation and ship operation) to even begin to move. All four instances were obviously not leisure trips, and even if they were, Kurapika had been too distracted by other issues to even begin to think of relaxing and enjoying himself.

So he couldn't quite keep his curiosity in check as he and Kuroro boarded the ship and ascended the decks to their room. He still didn't approve of all the money they'd spent for the tickets, but it _was_ his first time on a luxury liner. While he knew some things about packaged cruises, no amount of reading could beat experiencing the real thing.

However preoccupied he was, though, he could hardly fail to spot the sideways looks that were being given to them in kind, from some of the staff and from the passengers who were going in and out of the other suites on their deck. At first he'd assumed that they were curious about their identity; the two of them certainly didn't look like the kind who had enough money and influence to book the most expensive suite on a luxury cruise on the fly. It would take an offhand comment from the staff member who was escorting them to prove that his assumption was only half of the truth.

"Here you are, sirs. The Royal Suite, Deck Eight. We're very near the bow of the ship," the girl pointed out cheerfully as they drew near the door to their room. She continued to talk as she brought out two plastic cards and showed them the proper way of disengaging the electronic lock. "The elevator is just down the hall, and the bridge is down the other way. As VIP guests you are allowed to enter the bridge should you wish to see it; just call for one of my fellow staff members and we will be more than glad to guide you there, or any place you'd like to go to."

Kuroro made a vague murmur of thanks as he received the keycards from her, and the girl beamed at them even more widely than before. Kurapika gave her a small answering smile. He was getting tired of being chased around by third-rate bounty hunters, so it was nice to have such an openly friendly face welcoming them – or at least, that was what he was thinking before her next statement blew all of his fuzzy feelings of tentative contentment to pieces.

"We're really happy to have you with us. On behalf of the crew I'd like to once again welcome you on board, and to congratulate the both of you on your engagement," she said, and then skipped back the way they had come from before either of them could even begin to process the last part of her greeting.

"Engagement?" Kurapika gaped. Kuroro looked similarly flummoxed, but rather than giving into the shock and standing dumbly in the hallway in full view of all the other passengers, he turned and ushered the blond into their suite and shut the door.

"Why would she think that we're engaged?" Kurapika repeated in flustered tones.

"I'm not sure."

"Then it must have been something you said!"

The older man threw him a sharp glare, although the irritation was only half-hearted as he seemed to be thinking of how anyone would mistake them for fiancés. Kurapika flushed and averted his eyes as he realized just how childish he was acting. Granted, it couldn't have been _his_ fault, as he couldn't remember saying anything in that short walk from the gangplank to the hallway outside their room, but he shouldn't have made an unfounded accusation, either.

"I doubt it was anything either of us said or did," Kuroro said slowly after a moment's silence. Kurapika looked up to see the older man still staring at him – or at his left hand, rather.

"What?"

"It's your bracelet."

"What?"

Kuroro's lips twitched at the repeated question, and Kurapika sourly thought that it wasn't that funny. He would have seized the chance to vent some of his disgruntlement, but Kuroro headed him off with his explanation before he could say anything else.

"The people here believe that the wrists are two of the most important parts of the body, aside from the brain and the heart and the other internal organs. They see them as primary pathways through which blood and energy – and in other words life – may flow. They have a point, as the hands are the body parts most often used for nen transfer, and a deep cut to a wrist can cause a person to bleed to death."

Kurapika frowned. He'd never heard of such a belief before. He felt unreasonably annoyed that Kuroro knew something he didn't know. "It sounds interesting, but what does that have to do with this bracelet?"

"They also believe that the left wrist is a more deserving place than fingers for jewelry meant to signify one's conjugal status in life," Kuroro continued to explain calmly. "They don't use wedding rings here, only silver bracelets. That bracelet means that I proposed to you, and since you're wearing it, it means that you accepted. Come to think of it, this place has quite the traditional culture…" the man added slowly.

Yes, now that he thought about it, there were quite a few disapproving frowns mixed in with all the looks they'd received. One or two even looked scandalized. The boy groaned in disbelief.

"So that girl really thinks that we're… And all those people, don't tell me they were looking at us because –"

Kuroro nodded. Kurapika closed his gaping mouth and made a move as if to cover his left wrist with his right hand – or to remove the thing that was causing all the interest in the first place, but Kuroro shook his head.

"You have to keep it on. The people here have already seen you with it. You'll raise suspicion if you suddenly stop wearing it."

"You mean I have to act like I'm engaged to you," Kurapika said flatly.

The older man gave him a small, apologetic grin. "Not really. I imagine that we already look like close acquaintances to people we meet in passing." He turned and walked deeper into the suite, towards the bedroom – which Kurapika realized only had a single huge queen-sized bed. "It could have been worse," Kuroro said over his shoulder. "If I had a matching silver bracelet we'd be newly-married, and _then_ we'd really have to worry about keeping appearances."

Kurapika shook his head and turned to follow Kuroro, only to pause at the sight of the baby grand piano taking up a third of what he could now see was just the foyer area of their suite.

"Hey, do you mind if I took a bath first?" Kuroro called from the bedroom.

"No, go ahead. I'll – I'll think of something to keep myself busy," Kurapika managed to yell back despite his bewilderment at suddenly being faced with a shiny black piano on a ship. Even with the extravagance all around him it still felt completely incongruous.

The Geneiryodan leader didn't give an answer to his reply, but Kurapika heard the shower starting up a minute later. The sound of water hitting the bathroom tiles was perfectly audible, not muffled by a closed door. Kuroro had left the door open again, as they had been doing ever since Kurapika's brother sealed his nen, and with it, his ability to broadcast his location behind obstacles.

The blond found his lips twisting in bitter humor. He shouldn't be surprised that strangers were mistaking them for a couple. They were – almost literally – attached at the hip. They looked nothing alike, so people wouldn't think they were related, and what conclusion would the uninformed make other than the most likely one, that the two of them were involved in some kind of relationship? No one would certainly think that they'd both tried to kill each other just a few months before.

Kurapika tore his eyes away from the piano, at the same time forcing his thoughts away from his unhappy lot in life, and wandered over to the living room to sit down on one of the couches. There was a television unit in front of him and the remote control was enticingly within reach on the side table. He eyed the TV's dark screen for a few moments before moving his attention to his bandaged right wrist.

Now would be as good a time as any to check his injuries, since he'd still need to remove the bandages for his bath later anyway.

Unwinding the elastic strip of white fabric wrapped around his wrist was easy – Kuroro's handiwork was clean, and he'd kept it simple at just a few overlapping layers. What had looked to be a serious sprain at first had healed surprisingly quickly, despite the fact that Kurapika couldn't call on the strengthening aspect of his nen to speed up the process. The past week had seen the swelling and the bruising vanish steadily, and now it looked back to normal. It wasn't painful anymore, actually. Kuroro only insisted that he keep the bandage on as a support, and as a reminder not to strain that particular arm.

And as for his head wound, only a pinkish welt and a bit of tenderness remained to show that he'd had his forehead cracked open with a baton. An injury like that would have needed stitches on a normal person, but it had closed all by itself after only a week. Kuroro had offered theories on how Kurapika's body could be utilizing the nen reserves that he couldn't even access consciously, but Kurapika wasn't comfortable discussing them. Most touched on the Kuruta aspect of his nen, which he himself didn't even understand fully. He thought it more likely that Kuroro's nen could be helping the healing process in place of his own, but then that explanation would raise questions of just how compatible their auras were. It seemed to him that his body was adapting to it much too easily – even accepting it for a task as delicate as accelerated healing.

Kurapika took a deep breath and let it back out in an explosive huff. Friendship and compatibility and Kuroro Lucifer all in the same thread of thought. His ancestors would be doing cartwheels in their graves, if they hadn't contorted into knots already. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch. It was a very comfortable position; the upholstery was obviously high-quality, and the stuffing was firm enough to support his body, yet soft enough to tempt him into taking a nap right there and then. It was nicely cool, too; the deck doors were open, allowing a brisk November breeze to flow into the room, bringing with it the faint cries of sea birds and the myriad scents associated with the seaside – and inevitably, making him wonder once again about the circumstances and events that led to him being aboard such a ship.

Kuroro was away for fifteen minutes, although it felt longer than that, as if time had slowed down to match their now more leisurely pace.

"Couch comfortable enough?" the man asked teasingly as he sat down on the one opposite Kurapika's.

The blond pulled a face and sat straighter, suddenly conscious about his posture.

"How are your injuries?" the Geneiryodan head inquired. He'd noticed that Kurapika had taken his wrist bandage off. The boy briefly wondered if he'd asked only to fill the silence, but the older man's tone of voice _was_ sufficiently concerned.

"Better," Kurapika answered. "My head wound twinges if I press at it too hard, and my wrist still feels a bit stiff, but that's all."

Kuroro nodded, apparently satisfied with his reply. "A hot bath would do you good. I've already drawn up the water. You should go before it gets cold."

Maybe it was the way the older man delivered his suggestion – lightly and yet firmly, with just the right amount of casual solicitude – but Kurapika found himself heeding it automatically, even eagerly. He was up and halfway across the room before he remembered the questions he had been thinking about while Kuroro took his bath. The blond stopped where he stood and shook his head in annoyance; he was getting far too used to obeying Kuroro's orders – especially the perfectly ordinary non-mission ones, given routinely.

"I've been thinking," he said before he could lose his nerve. Kuroro made an inquiring sound, and Kurapika could almost picture the man giving him his full attention. He turned around and tried not to let any of his sudden annoyance show – the Geneiryodan leader, still sitting on the couch, was indeed looking at him attentively.

"I don't think I can fully accept your explanation after all," Kurapika began. Kuroro blinked, and the blond plunged right into his arguments before the man could say anything.

"It just isn't logical to choose a slow passenger cruise ship over a fast airship when we're being followed around by bounty hunters. The only way you'd drag us both on a cruise ship is if you have another reason, something that isn't as important as the ones you've already told me. I don't believe that you have a weakness as banal as airsickness, either," Kurapika added pointedly, stubbornly ignoring the alarmingly blank look Kuroro was giving him. "You'd master it, and you won't let it get in the way of the things you need to do."

He couldn't remember being this forward before. The weeks he'd spent with the Geneiryodan now felt like they'd melded and jumbled together to form one long continuous squiggle depicting his general behavior – days of flat, docile acquiescence interrupted by sudden spikes of rebellious and bitter thoughts about his captivity. For a moment he wondered if he wasn't pushing it – Kuroro might suddenly snap and decide to kill him for questioning his motives. The man was still looking at him blankly, like his words had shocked him into speechlessness.

But a couple of seconds after his words trailed off, Kuroro smiled. It was, Kurapika realized, an infuriating expression – sharply amused and perversely pleased, like the man was actually _happy_ that Kurapika was challenging him.

"You're right," Kuroro said pleasantly. "Or partly right, as it were. I'll run you through my three reasons, starting with the most relevant-sounding."

Kurapika resisted the urge to fidget and tried to tell himself that he didn't feel intimidated by the crazily merry light in Kuroro's dark eyes.

"First, a question: if you were chasing after someone and you knew that his destination was on the other side of the ocean, where would you check first?"

The answer came quickly. "The airport," Kurapika replied promptly.

Kuroro nodded. "Airships are faster and more convenient. It's the logical choice. And if by chance someone was smart enough to try second-guessing us and sends people to the docks to look for us, they'd head for the smaller, faster sailing vessels. A slow cruise ship is the last place they'd think to look. And _if_ they somehow find out that we're here, they'd have a hard time getting on the way we did. Those commando wannabes in particular would never be allowed through security, unless they managed to obtain Hunter license cards from somewhere – which I highly doubt."

Kurapika twisted his lips in a grimace. "So you're telling me that you're second-guessing their second-guesses. That sounds exactly like the kind of scheme that you'd go for."

Again the shark-like grin. Kurapika briefly wondered if this was how students everywhere felt whenever sadistic teachers led them through Q&A sessions where behind every question lurked a lesson in handling public humiliation.

"My second reason goes thus," Kuroro continued. "Think of this trip as a form of stress relief. We'll be here for the next three days and can't go anywhere else. I'd rather that you use this chance to rid yourself of all that tension by the time we reach Shooting Star – in some cases, having too much caution can be just as fatal there as when you don't have enough of it."

"What do you mean?"

The man shook his head. "Seeing it for yourself will be better than any explanation I can give you right now."

The blond frowned again. He wanted to press further, but he already knew that Kuroro was the type who'd never give in no matter how hard you needled him – you'd just get frustrated trying and failing to get information out of him.

"Fine. You want me to relax. I can handle that. What's the third reason?"

"You're probably going to want to kill me after hearing it," Kuroro told him cheerfully.

Kurapika made another face at the blithely-delivered statement. "Just get it over with, please."

"I was getting sick of motels and wanted to stay somewhere nice and cushy for a change."

The boy stared, startled by the older man's audacity. He'd been expecting something similarly frivolous, and had been preparing himself to deal with the usual hedging and topic changes – he didn't really think that Kuroro would actually come out and admit to his indulgence.

The Geneiryodan leader shrugged. "I do have a bit of experience with boring and tedious excursions, and I figured that you're probably getting tired of roadside inns and fast food, too."

"You mean this is just to pamper yourself?" Kurapika asked incredulously.

"And you," Kuroro corrected.

Kurapika's eyes widened as something that felt like anger tried to push its way past his confusion and disbelief. "Are you trying to buy my loyalty?"

He expected the shake of the head, of course. He expected to hear a denial, maybe more cryptic phrases about how he wasn't capable of turning against any of the Ryodan now. What he didn't expect was for Kuroro to agree and even add a note about the semantics of his accusation.

"Your affection," the man piped up, with an emphasis on the second word. "I was aiming for your affection. I'm a firm believer in the ideology that says loyalty should be earned the hard way, because that way it'll be stronger and longer-lasting – but, anyway, yes, you may think that I'm trying to bribe you if it makes you happy."

"You – you're incorrigible!" Kurapika sputtered.

"Well, now you know," Kuroro said carelessly, almost challengingly. He tilted his head and regarded Kurapika with that now-familiar cocksure gaze. "What are you going to do about it?"

Kurapika managed to narrow his eyes through his shock – a suitably displeased expression, he hoped, because he was realizing that he totally didn't think about what would happen once his suspicions about the true reasons why Kuroro would want to get on a luxury cruise were confirmed. Not once did he imagine that his expectations would be met in so bold and impudent a way, and he wanted to beat himself over the head for failing to think that Kuroro would actually come clean –

The man was correct about his possible reaction, though. Right now he wanted to _throttle_ Kuroro – "kill" was still a very mild euphemism for what he felt like doing at that very moment. But of course he couldn't do that; he was already risking so much just thinking about wanting to wipe that arrogant smirk off Kuroro's face with a well-placed fist or two. In his case, thought must never be translated into action, even if he _was_ certain about what he wanted to do – therefore it followed that there was only one thing that he _could_ do.

He was going to do –

"Nothing," Kurapika said clearly and calmly. He was pleased to note that his voice didn't tremble one bit, and that his face didn't betray his anger and exasperation. He was even happier to see Kuroro's smirk faltering – it was probably the man's first time seeing such a completely expressionless look from him.

It was impressively deadpan, the blond knew. After all, he learned it from Kuroro himself.

"Thank you for being honest," he added politely, before turning on his heel and marching towards the bathroom.

There, Kurapika thought with petty vindictiveness, let _him_ stew this time. See how _he_ likes dealing with _my_ insane mood swings –

The blond jerked to a halt at the doorway to the bathroom and blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight of wisps of steam curling up gently from a pool of roiling water.

When Kuroro had mentioned the words 'hot bath' Kurapika had imagined a moderate-sized bathtub, large enough to relax in as befitting the luxury of the rest of the suite, but surely not bigger than what he'd seen in the upscale hotels in York Shin. Surely the ship's architects would economize on the space and choose something comfortable and suitably modest. But this…

There was a whirlpool bathtub in the bathroom big enough to comfortably fit four people. There was also a lavatory and a marble washstand. That wasn't all; there was the glass-enclosed shower area off to one side, perfectly slotted into the spacious niche between the tub and the curved wall that he remembered held a wardrobe on the other side.

Kuroro had used the shower – Kurapika remembered hearing the showerhead running, and the translucent glass was beaded from the spray and the residual moisture.

It all looked very grand. Expensive and sparklingly ostentatious. And it reminded him of the way Kuroro had looked at him just minutes ago as the man asked him what he was going to do – that careless sprawl, one hand lightly playing with one end of the towel draped across his shoulders, black eyes glinting with mad humor, lips curved into the slightest of smiles –

Kurapika growled and stepped onto the marble tiles of the bathroom. He barely remembered to keep the door open at the ire the memory had raised.

--- end of chapter twenty-two ---

Additional notes:

I'm losing it. DX I'm not quite sure what I'm writing anymore. I had to fight tooth and nail to get this chapter out, and I'm still not satisfied with what I'd written.

Once again, apologies for the ridiculously long time between updates. I'm employed now, so I don't have the same amount of free time as when I was still a bum, and like I said, this chapter proved to be quite the problem child. If it feels like the cruise is only there for fanservice, you're partly right. I wrote chapter 21 and the first draft of chapter 22 out of a desire to see these two finally getting it on, and am now scrambling to cover it up with viable plot material. That's also why it took me so long just to edit this after Mistress 259 got back with her feedback months ago – I didn't know what to do and couldn't bear to scrap it entirely and start over with something more relevant, and wasn't sure how to go about making it sound less like something a rabid fangirl would write… But I _will_ fix it. Somehow. ::dies::

Nearly 600 reviews. And WH will be five years old this January. Wow – thank you, all of you, for sticking with me for so long. I've received so many messages from readers telling me to continue writing, that they'll wait no matter how long it takes me to finish this – that's the best encouragement anyone can give to a writer like me. I might complain about how hard or how difficult it was to write this and that chapter, but I can't say that I didn't have fun. I'm creating something with my own skills, and I'm sharing it with wonderful people like you guys. That's all that matters in the end.

Happy New Year, everyone!

December 30, 2007.


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